


Up The Fire Escape (Into Your Arms)

by damnfancyscotch



Series: Tumblr Nonsense [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Artist Stiles Stilinski, Complete, Drunk AU, Everyone Lives in New York, F/F, Herbalist Isaac Lahey, Laura Hale owns the building, Lawyer Lydia Martin, M/M, McCall baseball bat, Meet-Cute, idek, meet-not-so-cute, they all get kittens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-28
Updated: 2015-11-25
Packaged: 2018-04-17 15:14:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4671389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/damnfancyscotch/pseuds/damnfancyscotch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the 50s and 60s, to the dismay of safety officials, many fire escapes were used for completely different purposes than actual fire safety.</p><p>The fire escapes on Laura Hale’s building are used for similar purposes. That is, they’re used for things nothing to do with fire safety.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Kittens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is what I came up with when I saw this [tumblr prompt](http://tickatocka.tumblr.com/post/85456038831/i-really-want-an-i-accidentally-broke-into-your) \- I added a little backstory [bc I cannot control myself, obviously] and viola! Here it is.
> 
> Enjoy.

The first fire escapes were invented in the 18th century as personal devices that could be hooked onto window sills in order to lower people to safety. They were commonly used by businessmen and people of importance. Following those, inflatable “slides” were created, mostly for use by schools and hospitals (it was easier to slide invalid patients down the tube on their bedding). The more recent, metal fire escapes that many people are familiar with were created around the turn of the 20th century due to lack of space for the inflatable tubes. In the 50s and 60s, to the dismay of safety officials, many fire escapes were used for completely different purposes than actual fire safety.

The fire escapes on Laura Hale’s building are used for similar purposes. That is, they’re used for things nothing to do with fire safety.

Isaac Lahey, on the second floor, uses his fire escape to grow his own herbs for his business and to make sure that Stiles hasn’t thrown any more canvases into the alley in a frothing rage, thus pissing off the patrons of the bar below. He mixes teas for Lydia to help her sleep and leaves them on her window sill. He doesn’t have a problem with the music that wafts up from the bar every night.

Lydia Martin, on the third floor, uses her fire escape to do yoga and relax since her job makes her back muscles tense with the strain of not punching idiots in the middle of the court room. She keeps a rain stick that she sometimes uses to create ambiance but mostly uses to hit the ceiling when Stiles’ foot _won’t stop tapping_ incessantly.

Stiles Stilinski, on the fourth floor, uses his fire escape to smoke and brood, muddling through his most recent artistic frustration. He listens to Lydia’s stupid soothing music and finds himself breathing in time with her more often than not. He leaves Isaac interesting pots and containers that he finds in random places for his plants, loving seeing the leafy things every time he goes up the stairs.

Laura Hale, on the fifth floor, doesn’t use either of her fire escapes that her lofted apartment boasts.

Stiles thinks she’s a vampire.

Lydia doesn’t care.

Isaac wonders if she’s a wealthy recluse.

Regardless, none of them have ever actually seen her, just spoken with her over the phone. They each toured the apartments with Laura’s broker, Erica, the leggy red-lipsticked blonde whose smile borders on wolfish at all times.

Stiles moves in first, loving that his windows are high enough to see over most of the buildings around his new home.

Lydia moves in next, irritated that she’s gotten the third floor. She hates the number three.

Isaac moves in last, loving the fact that he’s even got a place that’s his own.

By the time they all live there for several months, they’re on a semi-friendly basis with each other, though there are still annoyances.

Stiles loves to aggravate Lydia (she makes the best frustrated noises) and he doesn’t trust Isaac’s placid resting face (he hides a lot behind his own bravado, he knows a fake face when he sees one).

Lydia can’t stand Stiles’ incessant smoking (she doesn’t mind the smell but hates the ashes because they get _everywhere_ ) and she hates that’s Isaac’s always raining dirt down into the alley while she’s walking (twice, seriously, only twice).

Isaac can’t stand that Lydia wears heels six out of seven days a week (there are hard wood floors in all the apartments so it’s just clack clack clack CLACK CLACK _every morning_ ) and he jumps every time Stiles paces past his window and door (climbing up and down the fire escapes, going up and down the inside stairs, over and over).

All in all, not a terrible place to live, irritations aside. Stiles even decides that a triskelion is the symbol for the lot of them (he calls them a pack of omega wolves and the other two blink at him in confusion but whatever) and eventually places shaped and painted metal twisted into the swirled symbol on their window sills to match his (green for Lydia and blue for Isaac – his is purple).

\-----

In the first week of May, Isaac hears the tell-tale clicks of Lydia’s heels in the back of the building before she demands, “What is _that?_ ”

“A box of kittens, Lydia. Surely you know that with your incredible intellect.” Stiles drawls. Isaac didn’t even realize Stiles was down there.

Isaac peeks his head over the railing of his fire escape and sees Stiles, bag over his shoulder, cigarette between his teeth, peering into a soggy cardboard box. He takes one last drag, stubs the cherry out on the asphalt, and tosses the butt towards the dumpster.

Stiles exhales over his shoulder, in Lydia’s direction, and leans back over the box. “Hey little ones.” He croons.

Lydia scowls, waving her hand even though the smoke doesn’t even reach her, and clicks closer, squatting down next to Stiles. She watches as Stiles reaches into the box and pulls out a tiny ball of black fluff.

“Hello baby,” he sings as he cradles the kitten to his chest and pets its tiny head.

“This is ridiculous.” Lydia huffs, even as she reaches into the box and pulls out two kittens, one cream-colored and the other a coppery red not too far off from her hair.

“So what are you gonna name yours?” Stiles asks as he pulls a black and gray calico from the box.

She sighs then looks at the coppery red kitten for a moment. “Willow,” she states.

Stiles nods at the cream kitten. “Then you should name her Buffy.”

Lydia gives him a hard look but he only grins. She rolls her eyes. “Fine. Buffy it is.” She nods at the two kittens curled sleeping in Stiles’ hands. “What about yours?”

He raises the black kitten a little. “Pitch.” Lydia’s mouth quirks and Stiles smiles before raising the other kitten and proclaiming, “And this one is Splotch.”

“Charming.” Lydia derides, trying to hide her amusement.

“Utterly.” Stiles taunts back before turning and calling, “Hey Isaac, there’s two more! Come get your kittens!”

Isaac jumps, splashing some water out of the watering can and onto his foot. He frowns down at his wet shoe, then sighs and puts the can down. When he reaches the box and his neighbors, he pulls out a tortoiseshell and a tabby.

“Well?” Stiles asks, standing and cradling his kittens close to his chest.

Isaac blinks down at the kittens in his hands. “Tiny. And… Sokka.”

Stiles smiles. “I get Sokka. What’s Tiny?”

“Like Tiny Dancer.” Isaac shrugs. “It was my mom’s favorite song.”

Stiles nods, a small look of _I get it_ in his eyes. “Good choice, man.” He kicks the empty box closer to the dumpster and heads toward the stairs. Lydia follows after and holds Tiny while Isaac locks the gate behind them.

“So,” Stiles says, pausing on the landing next to Isaac’s fire escape, “do either of you have any cat stuff?”

Lydia rolls her eyes. “I don’t think either of us expected to adopt two cats today, Stiles.”

“Don’t you love when she says your name in exasperation?” Stiles asks Isaac in a false-dreamy voice, pretending to be faint against the brick wall.

Lydia scowls and Isaac replies, “She doesn’t say my name like that because I don’t annoy the shit out of her.”

“Oh, ouch, Isaac! I thought we were friends. I’m positively _wounded_.” Stiles snarks airily then starts up the stairs, saying in a baby-voice to his kittens, “I guess you won’t be spending a lot of time with Tiny and Sokka since their owner is butthead, will you babies?”

Lydia nudges Isaac’s arm gently as she passes. It’s her way of being nice, he thinks, though he’s not really certain.

Isaac looks down at the two kittens in his arms, nuzzling against his skin, and sighs, wondering if the pet store down the street is still open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming Soon: the meet-cute's and the meet-not-so-cute's [I'm sure you can guess who's gonna have what kind]
> 
> Can you guess which of the kittens are named after cats in my life? One is mine and the other is a friend's. Cookies for whomever gets it right. ;)
> 
> ily babbies!  
> kisskiss  
> ♡Scotch


	2. $2 Vodka Shots

The first floor of Laura’s building is a bar – the typical cool New York bar with too many patrons and music that’s too bassy and too loud – that is reasonably popular with the college age crowd.

There’s no way for anyone in the bar to get to the upper floors of the building unless they go through the padlocked gate on the front stairs or know the code for the back gate that leads to the lowest landing and the fire escapes.

That’s the route Derek chooses when he leaves the bar at 12:30 a.m. which makes it technically Saturday, he supposes. Laura’s still stuck at the airport so he gives up waiting for her – he doesn’t like being in her apartment without her there because it’s creepy. He didn’t mean to drink so much but the night's special - $2 Specialty Vodka Shots - hits him harder than he expects.

He sways, trying to squint to see the numbers on the door panel. He punches in the code wrong a few times before he puts his forehead against the metal and slowly, carefully pushes the buttons.

He’s finally able to swing it open. He closes it firmly behind himself, remembering the stern warning to always secure the door, and goes up the small staircase, coming out below the first fire escape.

He climbs then stops after a while, holding tight to the rail and weaving a little, wondering what floor number he’s on. He’s tempted to look up but when he lifts his head too high, he has to fight from falling backwards.

He giggles to himself then tries to focus, think about what floor he’s on. He thinks he’s passed three fire escapes, so even if he’s one short of the guest room, he’ll still end up in the living room.

At this point, he isn’t even creeped out at the thought of sleeping in the loft by himself. He just wants to lie down.

He stumbles toward the window, having to avoid a bucket filled with a bunch of sticks for some reason, and pushes it up as quietly as possible. He gets inside and closes it just as softly before he realizes that he’s veritably walking on eggshells for no reason since the place is empty. He chuckles lightly to himself before toeing off his shoes and flopping onto the couch.

He’s not sure when Laura got a new couch, this one so much more comfortable than the weird, boxy, modern garbage she calls furniture, but he loves it. He manages to wriggle out of his shirt, god it’s hotter inside than it is outside, and toss it to the floor. He wads up the soft knit blanket resting over the arm of the couch, shoves it under his head, and sinks further into the cushions before he passes out.

\-----

Allison watches the cute guy with the dark beard walk unsteadily out of the bar and hopes he’s got a way home as she swirls the tiny black straw around in her vodka-cran.

She waits for Stiles to text her back. When the screen remains dark for a good fifteen minutes, she frowns and drains her drink, tapping a finger on the bar to signal for another. A blond guy who resembles an Abercrombie model smiles at her and nods to the bartender who nods back.

She squints, suspicious, as the bartender hands the guy the same drink he hands her. The guy raises his drink in a toast then goes back to chatting with the brown-haired man next to him.

Allison takes the drink from the bartender and asks, “What is that about?”

The bartender, whose nametag says ‘Mason’, nods at the man. “He’s a regular and wanted to buy your drink. He said you looked like you were having a shitty day.”

She huffs a laugh, despite herself, and nods when she sees the guy glance her way again. She holds up her drink in salute and he raises his back with a smile.

After the third drink he sends, her fourth so far, the guy slides onto the stool next to her.

“I hope you’re not trying to hit on me.” She blurts out then slaps her hand over her mouth, cheeks burning. She did _not_ mean to say that out loud.

He shakes his head, a wry smile on his face. “You’re not my type. You just looked miserable.”

She blinks. “Oh.” She fiddles with the straw. “Well… I was, er, am? So thanks.”

He nods, twisting a lime into a fresh drink. “No problem. Got too much money to know what to do with sometimes anyway, so it’s whatever.”

“Well then,” she decides, slapping the bar, “we should do shots.”

He laughs. “We’ve only known each other for a few minutes and you’re already taking advantage of my wealth.”

She smiles, knowing her dimples are out in full force as she says, “ _You_ brought it up and they’re only two dollars each. Besides, that’s what friends are for.” She sticks out her hand. “Allison.”

He tries not to grin then shakes his head and takes her hand, giving it a firm shake. “Jackson.” He signals for Mason to come over.

After a couple each of a variety of vodka shots - honeydew, cranberry kamikaze, peach lemon drop, birthday cake, and little red Corvettes - the two of them are laughing so hard that they’re clutching their stomachs.

Allison finally manages to catch her breath and grabs a cherry from the bowl between them. “So, Jackson, _Mr. Fashion Model_ , what brings you to the bar alone tonight?”

He gives her a faux-haughty look. “Who says I came here alone?” He waves his hand. “I came here with a friend. He got dumped recently and wanted to find someone to hook up with. He found someone so I left them alone.”

“What a good wingman.” Allison slurs, pressing the tips of her fingers against her lips.

“I could ask why _you’re_ alone.” Jackson points out, snagging a cherry for himself and biting the fruit in half.

“Meh, I was supposed to hang out with a friend. He’s not usually in the best mood.”

“That doesn’t really sound like someone I’d want to hang out with, personally.” Jackson observes.

“Oh, no, uh I mean not usually _today_ , er, this date specifically.” Allison waves it away and leans a little closer. “It’s the anniversary of his mom’s death. Or, well, yesterday was, uhm, and it’s always pretty hard for him.”

Jackson’s smile drops. “That’s… heavy.”

Allison nods, twisting the cherry stem between her fingers. “Yeah. I came up from Massachusetts to see him but he kinda ditched me. I think he’s hiding at home.”

“You should go see him. Take a taxi though, don’t drive because I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but _you’re_ drunk.” Jackson points out, waving for the check.

She laughs and pushes his shoulder. “Shut up. _You’re_ drunk. And it’s not far.” Allison explains, pointing to the ceiling. “He lives above the bar.”

Jackson gives her a strange look.

“What?” She tries to think of what she just said, if it sounded weird. It takes her longer than it should. Ah, man, she’s _really_ drunk.

“My friend lives above the bar too.” He places his card on the tray without looking at the paper. “That’s where I’m crashing tonight since _somebody_ got me completely hammered.”

“Psshht.” Allison snorts. “You did just fine without my help. You’re the one who made me drink the last two!”

Jackson chuckles and takes the receipt that’s slid back to him, scrawling his name carelessly. “That’s true.” He nods at the bartender. “Thanks Mason. I appreciate it.”

“No problem, Jackson. See you next time.” The bartender says with a smile before nodding at Allison.

Jackson slides off the stool and offers Allison his arm.

“We’re leaving?” She asks but slides her arm into his. They’re both a little unsteady on their feet and they lean on each other as they walk out.

“Yes. You’re gonna go see your friend, even if it’s just so he doesn’t wake up alone tomorrow, because that sucks. _I’m_ going to crash on my friend’s couch.” He lets her lead the way toward the back of the building, not even pausing at the front door.

Allison likes Jackson, and how funny that their friends live in the building, but she still puts her hand in her pocket and holds onto her mace, just in case.

Jackson doesn’t try anything, just goes up to the door and pauses, turning to look at her. “Okay, not to be a jerk, but just in case your friend doesn’t live upstairs, I don’t want to let someone in that I’m not supposed to.”

She laughs. “I was thinking the same thing. How about…” She thinks hard. “Oh! Wow, I’ve got the _best_ idea. Ready?” He nods. “Okay, I’ll put the code in first and you stand over there.” She points to the back door of the bar. Not too far away but far enough that Jackson won’t be able to see. “Then I’ll shut the door and you can let yourself in.”

“’S a good idea. You’re _smart_. I knew there was a reason we’re friends.” He says and moves away, turning his back for good measure.

She checks again, just to make sure, and uses her body to block his vision too, punching in the code carefully, without moving her arm too much. She gets inside and shuts the gate quickly behind her, pushing it to be sure it’s shut before she makes her way to the landing. She leans over and calls, “Your turn!”

He turns and grins at her, throwing his arms up. “You got in!”

“I did! Now you come on!” She calls.

He types in the code himself and appears at the top of the stairs, climbing up using his hands. She puts her hand to her mouth to stifle the laughter that’s trying to burst out.

“Hey, don’t judge me.” He slurs. “Those stairs are intense.”

“That looks fun. I wanna do it.” She decides, going back down the stairs and climbing up using her hands.

They both do it several more times until they’re lying on the top of the stairs and laughing again.

Jackson’s face splits in a giant yawn and he stares at her. A second later, she’s struck with the urge to yawn and she swats him. “You did that on purpose!” She accuses through the yawn.

He laughs. “I did.” He climbs to his feet, leaning on the wall. “I’m tired.”

“Me too.” She takes his hand and lets him pull her to her feet, both of them swaying before they start walking up. She tries counting her steps to be sure she ends up at Stiles’ window but Jackson keeps calling out random numbers and she has to go to the bottom and start over.

The third time it happens, she stops and points at him. “You’re messing me up!”

He holds up his hands. “I’m sorry. I’ll stop.”

She rolls her eyes and starts again, stopping to look for the triskelion sitting on the window sill – it’s her focus point to remind her which balcony is which. “This is my stop.”

Jackson nods and takes her hand, giving it a firm shake. “It’s been fun, Allison. Tell your friend to talk to Lydia and pass my number along.”

“Will do.” She waits as he goes down to the landing below her then pushes the window up, climbing through as quietly as she can. She knows Stiles keeps a baseball bat, given to him by Melissa McCall whom she’s never met but who sounds like a pistol, and she doesn’t want to scare him into running out of his room and swinging it around.

She ditches her shoes at the edge of a ridiculously cushy area rug that she doesn’t remember him having and sinks onto a buttery soft leather couch that must be new too.

She tries to remind herself to ask if he’s seeing someone since the scent that comes off the throw pillow under her head is flowery and feminine. She presses her face closer, takes a deep inhale of the perfume, and drifts into darkness.

\-----

Jackson’s feeling just crappy enough that he’s vaguely tempted to go crawl into bed with Lydia but he knows she doesn’t always sleep well and it’s not fair to wake her. He settles for shuffling through the room in the dark, blinking to find the couch. She must have moved it, for whatever reason, but he finds it eventually, plopping down.

He’s pleasantly surprised – he isn’t sure when Lydia exchanged her over-priced leather couch for this warm, nubbly thing but he doesn’t care. He sighs contentedly, glad that he won’t wake up stuck to the damn cushions for once.

Everything smells very earthy and green as he settles down and he makes a note to tell her whatever her new perfume is, it’s a vast improvement from the faux-flower nonsense she usually wears.

There's a fan running somewhere and it wafts a clean scent over him. He can smell mint and soil and it makes him think of his grandfather’s farm that he hasn’t been to since he was a teenager. When he falls asleep, he dreams of the grassy field behind the old house, stalks waving in a breeze that he can feel against his arms as he closes his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it babes. Next chapter will have the actually meetings.
> 
> kisskiss  
> Scotch


	3. Unexpected Guests

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello tiny babbies! ^x^ Hope you're all having a spectacular week - here's a new chapter to make it a little better! Warning in advance, there's talk of puking in this chapter - detailed enough that it may have some of you feeling sick - so that's not so great, but still!
> 
> This one's longer than the other two [combined!] and you'll be getting POV from all 6 babes this chapter - woo! Makes me all tingly! ;D
> 
> [obviously, I don't own Vogue or Diesel brands - just using the names for artistic reasons, etc, etc, don't sue me]
> 
> Enjoy!

Allison has to pee.

She barely cracks her eyes, just enough to not run into the coffee table as she stumbles to the bathroom. She runs on auto pilot, eyes almost completely closed as she goes through the motions before shuffling back to the couch.

She settles down again, pulling the throw pillow close and burying her face in it.

Now that she’s sober, the couch isn’t quite as comfy as the night before. She shifts around a couple of times, trying to settle in and go back to sleep but it’s no use.

She grumbles under her breath, sitting up and shuffling off toward the bedroom. Stiles made her wait in the bar for hours – alone, if not for Jackson – and he can just damn well accept that she’s crawling into his bed to get a few more hours of sleep. It's certainly not the first time she's shared his bed and it definitely won't be the last.

When she pushes open the bedroom door, the blackout curtains are fully closed so she has to feel her way through the room. When her hand jams into something solid where the edge of the mattress should be, she curses softly. The idiot must have rearranged his furniture.

When she finally finds the bed, she sinks onto it with a quiet, happy sigh. The blankets are fluffier than she remembers – Stiles has got to be dating someone because none of his stuff is this nice – and it’s like being cradled in a cloud.

The next thing she knows, there’s a high-pitched scream that feels like it’s splitting her head in two. She thrashes, hand missing the side of the bed. It sends her toppling to the floor in an ungraceful heap, elbow striking the nightstand on the way down. There’s the sound of hissing that doesn’t make any sense at all.

“Mother of Christ!” Allison shouts, clutching at her head, curling her other arm close to her body as her elbow throbs. There’s a burst of light from a phone screen and she takes a deep breath to tell Stiles what a fucking jerk he is when she meets wide green eyes in a ghost-pale face.

This time, they both scream, and Allison scrambles toward the window, whipping the curtains back and illuminating the room with bright sunlight.

Two kittens squint at her from the foot of the bed and, well, that explains the hissing. The girl, on the other hand, is another matter. She throws her hand up, wincing in the bright light. Allison has the briefest moment to think _wow, she’s really beautiful, Stiles has definitely leveled up with this one_ before the girl drops her hand and scowls.

“Who the hell are you?” The girl snaps, clutching the sheets close to her naked chest, red hair tousled and messy, yet looking like beautiful liquid flames in the light.

Allison has to snap herself out of staring. Friends don’t creep on friends’ lady companions. “I’m sorry! I didn’t realize that Stiles had someone over. I’m Allison, I’m an old friend. Completely platonic, I swear. I’m just gonna, ah, go now.” She babbles, trying to slide out of the room.

“Stiles! What the hell does he have to do with this?” The girl’s eyes go hard. “Did he put you up to this? God, he’s such a fucking jerk, I swear!”

“What? That’s not a very nice thing to say!” Allison scolds, unable to help herself.

“Look, Old-Friend Allison,” the girl snarls, leaning forward and pointing a beautifully manicured finger at her, “I don’t know why Stiles sent you, but you should just shut up and get out of my apartment.”

“Your… apartment?” Allison asks weakly, clarity suddenly setting in. _The floral perfume, the nice stuff, the cats…_ God, she drank _way_ too much last night and stumbled into this girl’s apartment like a total asshole.

“Yes! _My_ _apartment!_ Seriously, get out!” The girl waves her hand angrily, pointing toward the door.

“Oh my god. I am soooo sorry. This is… I mean, Stiles – he didn’t, doesn’t have anything to do with this. It was me – I’m stupid and I, oh god, I’m really, really sorry!” Allison babbles moving toward the door and almost tripping over a pair of heels resting in front of the dresser. “Agh! Sorry!” She slips out the door and stumbles into the hallway to beat her escape.

“Hey!” The girl shouts and there’s the shuffling of sheets. “Wait a damn minute!”

\-----

Isaac loves his cats.

What he doesn’t love is that they wake him up every day whining piteously for food, like he’s never fed them at all. He can’t begrudge them – they were abandoned and left for dead and it’s a feeling he’s experienced himself – but he _can_ be irritated with the way they decide to start pouncing on his feet with claws fully-out when he doesn’t get up fast enough for their liking.

“Alright, you tiny monsters, I’m up. Shit.” He grumbles, throwing the light blanket over the kittens as he climbs out of bed. They rustle around under the cloth, growling, and he laughs, letting them free.

“Aren’t you freaking adorable?” He coos at them bending down to nuzzle them. Sokka responds with his usual fervor to cuddles and Tiny mewls while trying to get away. “Jerk.” He rubs her head, just to irritate her, then trots to the bathroom, ignoring her yowl of displeasure.

He brushes his teeth then heads into the kitchen, starting water for tea and filling the furry overlords’ food bowls as they twine around his ankles.

“Yeah, yeah.” He says as they immediately abandon him once they realize there’s food to be had. “I know what I am to you. Just the giant, hairless cat that feeds you since you don’t have thumbs.”

He contemplates whether or not he should work on the new tea he’s been muddling with while he waits for the water to heat. By the time it’s done, he decides that he’d rather just futz around until he goes to relieve Boyd at the shop for the afternoon shift.

He wonders if the lavender has finally bloomed and flashes over to his encounter with Stiles the day before.

_Isaac’s looking through his mail, stepping out the back window to check on his lavender plant, when he glances up and sees Stiles sprawled across the stairs leading up to Lydia’s fire escape._

_“Hey…” Isaac says softly. He knows what a drunken stupor looks like and he’d rather not startle Stiles into going over the side. “Stiles? It’s me, Isaac. Can you hear me?”_

_“Isaac!” Stiles chirps brightly, a sloppy smile twisting his mouth as he opens his eyes. “I can’t climb anymore.” He leans forward, almost teetering off the steps, and whispers, “Don’t, uh, don’t tell my cats but I’m a lil’ drunk, man.”_

_Isaac sighs, tossing his mail back inside before grabbing Stiles’ arm to put over his shoulders. “Come on, I’ll get you home.”_

_A clumsy hand pats his cheek. “You’re a really nice person, even if you’re a little scary and dark on the inside.”_

_“Uhm, thanks, Stiles.”_

He heaves a sigh. He should probably check that Stiles isn’t face-down in a puddle of vomit. Tea equipped, he moves to head to the fire escape when he’s stopped short.

There’s a guy sleeping on his couch.

He freezes in place. “Holy shit.” He breathes, hands shaking a little. The guy doesn’t stir, just sleeps peacefully as the kittens climb up the back of the couch and regard him curiously from the top of the cushions.

“Think, Isaac, think. Breathe…” He mumbles, calling to mind the grounding techniques his therapist told him to do to keep his panic at bay.

The longer he focuses on breathing in and out smoothly, the more he starts to notice something. The guy looks remarkably… familiar? He glances at the coffee table, covered with various detritus and magazines, and his eye catches on the latest issue of _Vogue_.

He leans forward, eyes on the guy, and snags the magazine, turning it to a few pages past the front cover. Sure enough, there’s the guy from his couch, all in black and white, wearing tight jeans - that probably cost more than Isaac profits in three months at the shop - and nothing else, looking pouty and sexy as all hell. He looks devastatingly beautiful in the picture and, even sleeping with his mouth open a little, disarmingly gorgeous on Isaac’s thrift store couch.

“Holy shit,” he repeats because, well, _holy shit_ , there’s a _fashion model_ passed out on his couch.

He drops back into his armchair and has to press his hand over his mouth to keep from barking out a hysterical laugh.

\-----

Someone screams, _loud_ , and Stiles flails upright, instantly regretting the jarring motion as his stomach gives a sickening lurch and his head threatens to throb off his body.

He clutches his pounding head and is about to say _fuck it_ and lay back down when there’s another scream. It sounds… it sounds like Lydia? And maybe someone else?

As bad as it sounds, he fucking hopes it’s real trouble because he feels like utter shit. He gropes for the baseball bat next to the bed and stumbles out of his bedroom in his boxers, ramming his shoulder into the doorway.

“Motherfucking goddamn…” He grumbles, heading for the window to the fire escape, reaching out to slide it up and…

And his window is already open.

 _That_ breaks through his bleary awareness, sending a spike of guilt through him. He knows Allison was waiting for him last night. She probably climbed up and came in to crash after he ditched her. He sighs, glancing at the couch.

The guilt turns into a spike of fear as he takes in a naked back that definitely _does not_ belong to Allison. He stumbles back against the wall and raises the bat, blinking and bracing himself for an attack that doesn’t come. He waits a couple of minutes but the guy – probably? – doesn’t move other than the slight rise and fall of his breathing.

 _Oh shit, Lydia_ – right, priorities. Stiles shakes his head a little, glancing back at the guy before climbing out the window and sticking his head over the railing.

“Lyds?” He calls.

There’s a couple seconds of silence before she calls back, sounding like her normal, curt self, most likely because of the nickname she hates him using. “Yeah?”

“You good?”

There’s a heavy sigh followed by, “Fine!”

“Okay just checking.” He shrugs, moving back into his apartment to solve the problem at hand.

He stands a few feet away, staring at the guy’s back, hung-over mind trying to figure out what to do. Splotch and Pitch blink at him from the top of their fortress built along the other window.

“What the hell am I supposed to do with him?” He asks the kittens, gesturing with the bat. They stare at him, Pitch breaking eye contact and starting to clean his paw while Splotch yawns widely. “Great, thanks for the help guys.”

He sighs, scooting closer with tiny steps until he can just barely reach the guy with the end of the bat, plenty far enough that he can still jump back and defend himself.

“Hey.” He says, nudging the guy’s shoulder with the bat, but it doesn’t have any effect. He sighs, saying a little louder with a more forceful nudge, “Hey, dude, wake up.”

The guy inhales deeply, swatting at the bat and sitting up too fast. Stiles recognizes the confused terror on his face as the guy tightens his lips and looks around frantically.

The guy’s probably looking for the bathroom but he’s not gonna make it in time, Stiles can tell.

He still begs, “No, man, don’t do it, just hold it back because I’m seriously a _very_ sympathetic puker and-”

It happens anyway.  The guy swallows thickly then turns white as a sheet before leaning over and losing his guts in the pot of bamboo next to the couch.

“Ah shit, oh god…” Stiles manages to stumble into the kitchen and toss his cookies into the sink – yes the one with the disposal – because he’s got slightly more self-control than Pukey B&E Guy but it’s still not pretty.

It’s not the way he expected to start his morning, though the puking isn’t _exactly_ unexpected?

The only thing he can think as he inhales sharply and tries not to throw up again is that Isaac’s gonna be pissed about the plant. Dammit.

\-----

Jackson’s eyes fly open, snapping him out of a particularly strange dream of eating ice cream out of a shoe. His dreams are always _weird_ after he drinks.

He wonders why he’s so suddenly awake when a tiny paw reaches out and pats him on the cheek under his eye. He turns his head to the back of the couch and is met by the curious gaze of two kittens looking down at him, one striped and one calico.

“Well hey.” He says softly, wiggling his fingers at them. The striped one rubs its face on his fingers happily, eyes half-closing with pleasure. The calico regards him with mild disinterest but sniffs his fingers without animosity. “Where’d you two come from?”

There’s a scream, then a heavy thump from upstairs followed by a shout and another scream. He frowns, looking at the ceiling, and listens to the sound of muffled yelling for a moment before it settles into silence again. He thinks about Allison, wondering if she scared her friend whose name he can’t really remember right at the moment.

“So, do you often sleep on strangers’ couches?” A light voice asks.

He whips his head to the side and realizes that the scream may have come from _Lydia_ , not Allison, because sitting a few feet away in an overstuffed arm chair, sipping from a mug and regarding him with curious blue eyes, is a guy who is definitely not his red-headed friend.

“Uh…” Jackson realizes that the guy asked him a question. “No, I don’t normally make it a habit.”

He glances around the apartment as the guy lets out a soft huff of amusement. It’s mostly filled with books – stacked everywhere and overflowing from shelves – and potted plants. It makes sense as to why Jackson thought of the farm the night before since it smells like life and growth.

“This is probably a question that’s going to make me sound terrible,” he warns the guy who nods and gestures with his mug for Jackson to continue, “but what floor of the building am I on?”

“Second.” The guy has a smile on his face that’s slowly growing larger and more amused. “I’m guessing that’s not where you expected to be.”

Jackson laughs, sitting up a little and petting the striped kitten when it crawls into his lap. “I’m supposed to be there.” He points to the ceiling.

The guy’s smile slips a little before he nods at the window. “It’s a short trip up there. I’m guessing Lydia isn’t very happy this morning. That was definitely her screaming.”

“You didn’t go to help her?”

The guy snorts, shaking his head. “Are you kidding? She’d probably get pissed at me for trying to help.”

“You… are most likely right.” Jackson shakes his head a little. “She probably found Allison in her apartment.”

“Who’s Allison?”

Jackson waits as the calico climbs down his shoulder and settles next to the striped kitten, ducking its head under his head demanding attention. “She’s friends with the guy on the fourth floor.”

The guy frowns. “Stiles?”

“That’s what it was!” Jackson snaps his fingers. “Yeah, Stiles. She came from Massachusetts to see him.”

The guy lifts one shoulder. “Oh, well, Stiles is probably still passed out. He… wasn’t doing well yesterday.”

Jackson nods. “Yeah, according to Allison, it wasn’t a good day for him.”

“Hmm…” The guy looks toward the window, tapping his fingers on the arm of the chair as he bites his lip.

Jackson has to admit, the guy is _really_ cute, with a mop of blonde-brown curls and big blue eyes with cheekbones that draw Jackson’s gaze. He’s around beautiful people all the time but the guy still makes him pause.

“I’m Jackson.” He supplies.

The guy looks back at him, half-smile tilting his mouth, and says, “Isaac.”

“Nice to meet you, Isaac. I’m sorry I broke into your apartment.”

Isaac laughs and it’s lovely. “I’d say it’s okay but I’m still not sure how I feel about it.”

“Fair enough.” Jackson places the kittens on the cushion next to him and rises to his feet. “I better go make sure Lydia hasn’t killed Allison.”

Isaac laughs again and something in Jackson tightens. “Probably for the best.” He rises to his feet, towering over Jackson a bit.

Jackson has to keep himself from offering a business card from his wallet. Isaac is definitely model material, but that’d probably add a whole other level of awkwardness to the situation. “Thank you for not calling the cops.” He shoves his shoes on and heads to the window.

“It was close there for a moment.” Isaac tells him, trailing after him. He waits until Jackson is outside on the fire escape before reaching out to shut the window. He pauses with it halfway shut, a mischievous glint in his eyes and a devilish curve to his mouth. “I loved your Diesel ad, by the way.”

Before Jackson can reply, Isaac shuts the window the rest of the way and flicks the lock, moving further into the apartment.

“Damn.” Jackson mumbles, shaking his head with a smile before he starts climbing the stairs to the next level of the fire escape.

\-----

Lydia hastily yanks her sheet from the bed and wraps herself in it, darting after the girl, the cats watching placidly from the rumpled comforter. The intruder – Allison – is mumbling under her breath and trying to shove her feet into her shoes and run to the window at the same time.

“Hey! I said wait!” Lydia declares at a more normal volume.

Allison’s head snaps up and she licks her lips nervously. “I thought you wanted me out of your apartment.

Lydia huffs. “Well, yes, but I want a more concise explanation first.”

Allison starts, “I’m-” but she’s cut off by call of, “Lyds?”

 _Her Knight-In-Ratty-Converse, of course._ Lydia rolls her eyes and moves toward the window, almost smiling at the way Allison backs away from her. She calls back, “Yeah?”

“You good?”

She looks at Allison who’s staring at her in slight terror, clutching one of her shoes tightly. She sighs, feeling a little mean, and says, “Fine!”

“Okay, just checking.”

She looks back at Allison and sighs. “I’d like that explanation now, if you don’t mind.” She heads toward the kitchen island so she has something to lean against.

“Uh, yeah, sure.” Allison follows her further into the apartment and perches on the arm of the couch, leaning over to put on her other shoe. “So… like I said before, I’m a friend of Stiles’. I got a little drunk last night and decided to crash at his place, since we were supposed to hang out anyway, but I guess I had a harder time with counting the floors than I thought.”

Lydia hums. “Alright. Clearly, you know someone in this building or you’d never have gotten up the stairs in the first place.” She studies the other girl as Allison nods. “I’m sorry I yelled at you.”

Allison laughs and the cutest dimples Lydia’s ever seen appear on her face. “I really think I deserved it. I’m sorry I climbed into your bed.”

She nods, a crazy thought whispering at the back of her mind. “Well, it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. I slept quite well until I realized I didn’t know who was in the bed.”

Allison smiles, cheeks pinking a little as she runs her eyes over Lydia. “It would be less awkward if you weren’t naked, maybe…”

 _Fuck it, it’s already a crazy situation, take a chance_. “Well,” she says slowly, raking her eyes over Allison in return, knowing that her expression has changed to something more predatory, “maybe next time you’re in my bed, you’ll be dressed the same way.”

“Which is… not at all.” Allison responds softly.

“Exactly.”

Allison’s smile goes a little sharp. “This is crazy.” She says frankly.

Apparently, Lydia’s been reduced to single word answers because all she says is, “Agreed.”

Allison bites her lip then grabs a pen from the desk sitting by the window. She strides forward with utter confidence and it makes Lydia’s heart beat faster. She pulls the cap off with her teeth, takes one of Lydia’s hands softly, turning it over and writing a number across the palm in small, neat handwriting.

“Maybe next time,” Allison says, capping the pen with a sharp click, “I can come through the front door.”

Lydia smiles, lets her fingers tighten just a bit before releasing Allison’s hand and watching the other girl back toward the window.

Allison climbs out, leaning back in to say, “I’ll see you around, _Lyds_.” With that, she’s gone.

She hates the nickname that Stiles has given her, but coming from Allison, well, maybe she doesn’t hate it so much. She contemplates the possibilities for a bit before Jackson’s head poking through her window shakes her from her thoughts.

“Good morning, Starshine.” He greets as he climbs inside, looking tired and beautiful and familiar in the best way.

“The earth says hello.” She supplies automatically, a smile quirking her mouth. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Crazy night, crazy morning.” He says with a shrug, kissing her cheek and moving toward the coffee pot.

She laughs, turning to rest her elbows on the island. “No kidding. You’re not gonna believe the morning I’ve had.”

He chuckles, turning and hopping up onto the counter. “Do tell.”

\-----

Derek _hates_ throwing up.

The only thing worse than throwing up in general – though it’s pretty terrible all around – is throwing up from drinking too much.

This has to be the worst type of throwing up, however, and it’s a new one.

There’s a fucking burglar or trespasser or just plain weirdo with a baseball bat in Laura’s loft and he’s completely unable to do anything about it because he’s horking up all his insides into a potted plant.

His life sometimes…

When he’s finally about to take a breath without throwing up again, he looks around. The guy’s leaning on the sink and moaning lowly.

He’s all set to tell the guy to fuck off and get out when he gets a good look at his surroundings and realizes he has no fucking idea where he is.

Oh yeah, the apartment looks familiar enough. It’s obviously Laura’s building – it has all the familiar features – but it’s definitely not her loft.

He feels about ten times worse when it fully sets in that he wandered into the apartment of one of her tenants.

“Oh god.” He mumbles, covering his face with his hands and trying not to throw up again.

“Yeah, no kidding.” The guy groans. There’s the sound of water being turned on and the guy blows his nose. “Mother fucking hate throwing up…” The water turns off and the sound of footsteps grows closer. “Who the fuck are you, dude? What are you doing in my place?”

“I don’t… I’m not supposed to be here.” Derek admits feebly, lifting his head and looking at the guy. He’s lean with muscle, covered with moles, and tattooed all over with glorious bed-head and wide brown eyes.

It’s simultaneously fantastic to look at him and utterly mortifying. One of the hottest guys Derek’s ever seen is staring at him like he’s a total monster and piece of shit, which, point because Derek did break into his apartment and upchuck in his plant.

The guy snorts. “Obviously.” He rubs his hair, frowning, and puts a hand on his hip. “Seriously, do I need to call someone or…”

“Preferably not the cops.” Derek mutters, looking around for his shirt.

“Yeah, I’m not gonna cross that off the list yet.” The guy snarks, resting his hip on a stool and staring at Derek.

“Please don’t. I’ll go. I’m really sorry.” Derek finally locates his shirt and grabs it before rising to his feet. “I was trying to get to my sister’s apartment.” He offers in explanation as he pulls the cloth over his head.

“Lydia?”

Derek has no idea who that is but figures it's probably another tenant. He shakes his head. “Laura.”

The guy raises an eyebrow, looking intrigued. “Huh. Didn’t know she had a brother.”

“That’s me.” Derek shrugs, feeling fucking awful. “I’ll, uh, head that way.”

The guy sighs, rubbing his forehead, and motions at the hallway that Derek thinks probably leads to the bathroom. “You can at least rinse your mouth out first, dude. I know I’m gonna brush my teeth like four times when you leave.”

It’s less than a minute to Laura’s but he accepts the offer. “Thanks.” Derek whispers, moving into the bathroom and closing the door with a soft click. He doesn’t look at himself in the mirror, just proceeds to rinse his mouth with cold water, blow his nose, and rinse his mouth again, this time with mouthwash.

When he comes out of the bathroom, the guy gives Derek a once-over. He seems completely unselfconscious standing there in just his boxers, frowning for a moment before shaking his head.

“So I’m not gonna call the cops.” He informs Derek.

“Thanks. I appreciate it.” Derek nods toward the window before moving toward it.

“What can I say, I’m a modern day saint.” The guy mutters, following behind him, and Derek has to stifle a laugh, because, seriously? His life...

\-----

Allison pauses at the top of the steps, watching someone crawl out of Stiles’ window. She clears her throat and raises a curious eyebrow.

The guy looks up at her, startled. “Uh, hi…”

It’s Cute Dark Beard Guy from the bar. Her curious expression drops into a smirk as she catches sight of Stiles on the other side of the window, dressed only in his boxers.

“Heya Ally.” He greets happily and perhaps a shade guiltily, eyes flicking to Beard Guy for a second.

“Hey Stiles.” She says brightly, moving forward as Beard Guy moves further from the window.

“So, uh, this is Laura Hale’s brother. He got a little lost.” Stiles motions at the guy.

“Derek.” The guy supplies softly, looking incredibly uncomfortable.

“Nice to meet you, Derek. Don’t feel bad about getting lost, it happens to the best of us.” She smiles politely, ignoring Stiles’ curious look. She really wants to be horizontal again and soon. “I’d love to chat longer, but I’m going inside and passing out for the next few hours.”

“God that sounds great.” Stiles mumbles, leaning against the window.

“Yeah.” Derek agrees, shuffling closer to the stairs that will take him up to the next floor. “I’m gonna…” He jerks his head.

“Yeah. Uh, it was… interesting meeting you?” Stiles says, scratching the back of his head.

“Yeah.” Derek repeats, pausing before he starts up the stairs. “Sorry again about your plant.”

Stiles waves his hand. “No worries. Feel better, dude.”

Derek flicks his eyes to Allison before looking back at Stiles. “You too.” He disappears up the steps and presumably goes into the window on the next floor up.

“Well!” Allison says, turning to her friend.

“No, just… no. Get inside so I can lock this damn window.” Stiles grumbles, waving her in.

She steps in and wrinkles her nose. “It smells in here.”

Stiles laughs sharply. “No kidding. Go lie down, I’ll be in in a minute.”

“Okay.” She moves happily into his dark bedroom, flopping happily into his bed, the familiar scent of him rising from the blankets as she blinks in the darkness.

A few minutes later, he joins her, smelling like toothpaste. He rustles around a little before curling around her, throwing an arm over her waist.

“Minty.” She mumbles, resting her hand on his arm.

“Yeah.” He says, yawning against her shoulder. “Talk about it later.”

“’Kay. Love you.”

He breathes out a soft laugh, arm tightening for a moment. “Love you too, Ally Cat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, what did you guys think?! Spectacular, eh?
> 
> Oh! I have doodles that I made for everyone's fire escapes [[Isaac's](http://damnfancyscotch.tumblr.com/post/128678814754) & [Lydia's](http://damnfancyscotch.tumblr.com/post/128679193089) \- Stiles' is soon to come] ngl, they're not anything special but I like them [I really need a tablet bc I made them on my phone]. I'd like to embed them in the fic [any tips bc I can't seem to do it correctly... ugh! Halp meee...] but you can just go to my tumblr to see them!
> 
> Let me know what you thought of the chapter! The next - and probs final [but you know how I am, so who knows?] - one will be out soon.
> 
> kisskiss  
> ♡ Scotch


	4. Afterwards

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapterrrrr!

Lydia and Jackson exchange the short versions of each other’s mornings. Afterwards, she goes and gets dressed while Jackson rustles around in her kitchen.

When she emerges, he’s putting bagels on plates. He slides them onto the island with the cream cheese and sweet cream butter.

“You’re out of preserves already?” He asks with a grin when she hops up onto a stool.

She raises her eyebrows and shrugs. “They’re far better than the store bought. As long as your mom keeps making them and you keep sending them to me, I’ll keep devouring them.”

He chuckles, fetching them both fresh cups of coffee. “I’ll be sure to tell her to send some extra next time.”

“You do that.” Lydia informs him then tears into her bagel, strangely ravenous.

Jackson snorts a little and smiles at Lydia’s noise of inquiry. “Nothing, it’s just… how the hell do you end up with your accidental intruder’s phone number? It’s like something out of a sitcom.”

“Or a bad fanfiction.” Lydia mumbles.

“What?” Jackson looks confused and she waves it away.

“Nothing, never mind.” She grins and takes the coffee he hands her. “I might call her. I haven’t decided yet.” She shrugs, plays it off, even though she knows she’ll be texting Allison later for sure. “What I want to know is why you didn’t walk away with Isaac’s number.”

Jackson shrugs one shoulder, taking a sip of his coffee. “He was cute but I don’t really think he was interested in me.”

Lydia gives a delicate snort and shakes her head. “Yeah, okay.”

“What? What is that supposed to mean?”

She rolls her eyes. “Jackson, I don’t know why you need me to remind you, but you’re incredibly attractive and people would do very drastic things to spend time in your presence.”

“You wouldn’t.” Jackson bites into his bagel.

“That’s different. You seek me out, not the other way around. I don’t have to do much to get you to come by. Plus, I’ve known you since we were seven. I know there’s more to you than your pretty face. I remember what you looked like before all this happened.” She gestures at his physical appearance.

“I’m shocked you still love me after sixth grade.” He shudders at the memory of his braces and awkward appearance.

“Who said I love you?” She asks, wrinkling her nose at his frown. She waits until he stops laughing before adding, “Isaac’s a decent person. Just ask. The worst he’ll say is no.”

“That’s what I _don’t_ want to hear though.” Jackson sighs, picking at his bagel.

“Well,” Lydia shrugs, “unfortunately that’s life. Sometimes you get told no. It is what it is.”

“Why couldn’t I have just dated you? We could’ve been famous and so sexy together.”

“Oh, I agree, we’d’ve made a stunning couple.” She smiles, leaning forward to pat his cheek. “But you don’t have the right equipment and my job would never allow for so much world travelling.”

“You just had to help your fellow human being, didn’t you?” He makes it sound bitter even though she knows he’s incredibly proud of her.

“You know me. Give, give, give.” She beams at him as he rolls his eyes. “Look, I’ll pass along your number, okay? Tell him you’re interested.”

“Thank you.” He smiles at her. “You’re my bestest friend.”

She shoves him. “I know.”

\-----

Stiles’ best friends are assholes, both of them.

When he and Allison wake up from their nap, they call Scott on Skype for their traditional post- _That_ - _Day_ -chat. They all greet each other as they light up, Stiles and Allison passing his bowl back and forth as Scott puffs merrily on his joint.

“So what happened last night? You two look like you had a rough night.” Scott informs them, leaning close and inspecting them with a raised eyebrow.

They laugh, despite themselves, and Allison gives a succinct rundown of her night. When she’s done, they both look at Stiles.

Even as he’s telling them what happened, he’s seriously wondering if it’s a good idea. Before he can even finish, the two of them are laughing hysterically, Allison flailing around on the couch and Scott falling off his desk chair, disappearing out of the laptop screen as he cackles.

Stiles scowls and walks to the kitchen to get a beer.

“Wait!” Allison calls through her giggles. “Where are you going?”

“I’m getting booze so I can deal with you two.” He grumbles, jerking the fridge open with a little more force than necessary.

“Aw, dude, don’t be like that!” Scott cajoles as he wipes the tears from his eyes and settles back in his seat.

“Man, whatever. It was fucking awful and awkward and weird as all hell. The end. Can we talk about something else now?”

“Fine, fine. You hated it and it was terrible.” Scott agrees, turning and looking at Allison with a smirk. “How do you feel about _your_ little visit to the wrong apartment, Ally?”

It’s her turn to be flustered, though she looks lovely as her cheeks go a little pink and she shakes her head. “It really was fine, after all the yelling and confusion stopped.” She raises her chin a bit. “I may get a date out of it.”

“Jesus!” Stiles throws his hand up as Scott slow claps proudly. “This is freaking typical. You are so fucking lucky.”

Allison shrugs. “It wasn’t like it was planned, obviously. Far from it really, but hey, sometimes things work out.”

Stiles huffs and drops next to her on the couch again. “For you maybe.”

Scott leans forward. “Hey, man, don’t sweat it. Maybe you and this Derek guy will run into each other again and it’ll be better the second time around.”

“I really doubt it.” Stiles hasn’t ever even seen _Laura_ so what’s to say that he’ll see her brother ever again? It was probably just a one-off. He shakes his head. It’s not like it matters. “Seriously, can we talk about something else?”

Scott nods. “Sure.” His face lights up. “Ohhh, did I tell you guys? Crazy Old Man Parker finally got put in an assisted living place.”

“Oh? Damn, is he actually still alive?” Allison asks, nudging Stiles with her shoulder over and over with a lopsided smile.

He breaks and smiles back before drawling, “So what, dude? Old people get put in homes all the time. Plus that guy was asking for it. You can only stand outside without pants or underwear so many times before someone does something about it.”

“Nah, man, it’s not that.” Scott grins, taking a sip of his drink. “You’re not gonna fucking _believe_ what they found in his house.”

\-----

Isaac spends the rest of the weekend working at the shop and checking on his plants, definitely _not_ thinking about Jackson. For Isaac though, actively not thinking about someone really only makes that person pop up in his thoughts more.

It’s a total Baader-Meinhof situation too. He’s only seen a few ads of Jackson’s before – enough for recognition to set in when he found the model on his couch – but now, it’s like he can’t escape Jackson’s image. There’s the cologne ad on the side of the bus and the magazine stand with his _smug_ _pretty_ face and a display at one of the clothing shops…

The worst is the billboard that Isaac’s seen about a million times on the way to the tea shop and never given more than a passing glance. On Monday, sure e-fucking-nough, there’s another Diesel ad featuring Jackson, twenty feet tall and smirking at him as hands from unseen owners clutch onto his gorgeous bare torso and arms.

“Fucking a…” Isaac grumbles, entering the shop and shutting the door firmly, leaning back against it for a moment and taking a deep breath.

“You okay?” Boyd asks softly though it still makes Isaac jump a little.

“Oh, haha, yeah, I’m fine.” Isaac assures him, flapping a hand at him. He moves toward the counter, ignoring the look that he knows Boyd is probably shooting him.

It’s not that he’s freaked out – Jackson was perfectly nice and not a murderer or a burglar – but it’s starting to unnerve him that he can’t stop thinking about him. _And seeing his stupid handsome face everywhere isn’t helping._

He settles into the groove of the shop, mixing some teas and checking the supplies. He’s getting ready to go over the bills when the bell rings and Erica strolls in, all dark-lined eyes and blonde curls. She gives him a grin and leans on the counter.

“Hey there.” Her voice is warm, despite her chilly exterior, and he finds himself smiling.

“Hey Erica.” He greets. “What can I get for you today?”

Her smile dips a little on one side, just for a second, and she lets out a deep breath. “I’m exhausted, so something with caffeine? But also floral? Is that possible?”

He nods, something already in mind for her. “Absolutely. Give me a minute.”

“Sure.” She stays leaning on the counter, watching him with curiosity as he pulls a couple of tins from the shelves behind the bar. He sets about mixing the tea, measuring by eye and feeling, which sounds silly but it works. He sets the cup to brew and makes a small bag of the tea.

“What is it?” She asks, peering into the bag with undisguised excitement. “Are those real flowers?”

“Yep. It’s called Posey Pick-Me-Up. It’s new. I need you to test it for me, let me know how it is.”

She grins at the name. “You know I’m always glad to be your guinea pig. Does it need sweetening?”

He laughs. “For Cora, about four teaspoons of honey or six packets of Sugar in the Raw.” He jokes, referring to her girlfriend’s infamous sweet tooth. “You won’t need anything though.” He hands her the paper cup and a lid.

She inhales deeply, eyes almost rolling in her head. “You’re the best, Isaac. What do I owe you?”

“Two fifty for the brew.”

She hands him a ten and refuses to take the change. “Come on, you know the drill.” She says at his exasperated sound.

“You spoil me for other customers.” He informs her, dropping the change in the tip jar.

She looks pleased. “I know. I’ll see you later.”

“Have a good day.”

“You too, honey.” She blows him a kiss and sends a wink to Boyd who rolls his eyes like always.

“She’s a menace.” Boyd rumbles when the door closes, watching Erica sashay down the sidewalk.

“Force of nature, I think.” He says and Boyd snorts.

Boyd heads out shortly after and he mans the shop until close, locking the door promptly at nine and doing the count in the back.

He heads back to the apartment and brews himself some tea, not the Pick-Me-Up since he doesn’t want to be up all night, but something softer, a little sweeter. He relishes the slight chill in the air as he steps out his window, looking forward to the fall break from the oppressive heat of summer.

He’s outside for a few minutes before he hears Lydia call softly from above. “Isaac?”

“Yeah?”

She appears a few minutes later, her hair piled on top of her head. She smiles and gestures at the herb garden. “Looks like everything is doing pretty well.”

He smiles. “Yeah. It was touch and go with the mint there for a minute but it’s coming along.”

“That’s good.” She leans on the stairs and gives him a look before she says, “So, Jackson ended up at your place over the weekend.”

He nods, a little wary. “Yeah. It was okay. Honest mistake.”

She smiles. “Yeah.” She holds her hand out. “Could I see your cell phone?”

He frowns, hesitant, but he reaches into his pocket and holds it out to her. “Is yours dead?”

She types on his screen. “Oh no, just wanted to put something in there for you.” She hands back the phone. “I wanted you to have my number, just in case there was an emergency or anything.”

“Oh, uh, thanks.” He glances down at his phone, back on the home screen. “I’ll text you so you have mine.”

“Good.” She turns to climb the stairs again. “Have a good night Isaac.”

“You too.” He responds, still a little confused as he hears her walking. He hears another feminine voice ask "Well?" before her window closes firmly.

He pulls up his contacts, still open to her entry. The _Lydia_ is accompanied by her number. He hits the back button and sees another contact has been added, three above hers.

_Jackson_

He holds his breath for a second, sure that he’s seeing things before he sends out a text.

**_Me: It’s Isaac._ **

Her response comes in almost immediately. **_Lydia: :)_**

He bites his lip, debating whether or not he should pretend like he didn’t see the other new contact. He finally sends another text. **_Me: Why did you put his number in my phone?_** He knows he doesn't need to specify the "he" he's referring to. _  
_

Her reply comes incredibly quickly again. **_Lydia: He said he’d like to see you again. This time with your prior knowledge that you’d be meeting. I agreed to pass along his number._**

He can’t help the small laugh that he huffs out. He’s not sure if he should say thank you or not. He settles on something simpler, though perhaps a little less polite. **_Me: Okay._**

His tea isn’t the caffeinated mix that he gave Erica but he doesn’t end up going to sleep for a long while after that. He lies in his bed and composes text after text before he finally sends one out. It’s short, simple, but it still makes him anxious.

**_Me: This is Isaac._ **

He immediately panics the second he hits send and he sees the time. It’s past midnight. Jackson probably won’t even see it until tomorrow. He’d had to send _something_ though so he locks his phone and turns off the bedside lamp, rolling over and closing his eyes, telling himself not to freak out and get some sleep.

A few minutes later, his phone beeps and he almost knocks the lamp off the nightstand in his haste to get to it. He’s _beyond_ nervous as he opens the message.

**_Jackson: Hey._ **

He feels ridiculous at how his stomach swoops. It’s _one word_ , for god’s sake, but still… he can’t help the stupid grin that twists his mouth as another message comes in.

**_Jackson: Would you like to have lunch tomorrow?_ **

_Play it cool, Lahey_. He waits two minutes then types back.  ** _Sure._**

He drops his phone face down on his chest and taps his fingers against the back until it dings.

**_Jackson: Maggie’s at 12:30?_ **

A pretty nice diner, but not super fancy, right down the street from his shop. He full on beams, letting himself revel in it before he types back another short message. **_I’ll be there._**

**_Jackson: Good. I’ll see you then._ **

It takes a little longer for him to fall asleep after that, but when he does, he’s smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you guys think! Chapter's short and a bit Jisaac-centric - have no fear the others will get their time next chapter! I hope you liked it.
> 
> Next chapter should be out soon. :D
> 
> Also, I'm toying with the idea of posting a chapter from Laura's POV - would that be something you guys would like to see? Idk about it yet... tell me what you think, yeah?
> 
> Thanks for all the love, you're the best, babbies!
> 
> kisskiss  
> ♡ Scotch


	5. Date, Date, Uh?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy WOW it's an update - whaaatt??!!
> 
> [please excuse any mistakes]
> 
> Enjoy!

Monday morning starts with Stiles shoving her side and putting her phone on her face. It beeps again – she has it set to go off every 30 seconds until she answers a message since most of the time, she doesn’t hear the initial alert while she’s working – and Stiles growls.

“Sorry.” She mumbles, blinking to clear her eyes.

Stiles shoves his head under a pillow and grumbles something that’s probably not very nice. She ignores him in favor of unlocking her phone and reading the text.

**_Unknown Number: This is Lydia Martin._ **

Allison grins, stupidly amused even though it’s so early. She saves the number then texts back. **_Good morning, Lydia. To what do I owe the pleasure?_**

She switches her phone to silent so she doesn’t wake Stiles up again and checks her Instagram and emails while she waits for a response.

**_Lydia M.: I’ll have dinner ready at 8 tonight, if you’re interested. You may use the front door if you’d like but the window is easier._ **

Allison has to stop the giggle that threatens to bubble from her mouth. She wriggles happily, hand over her grin, before she replies with a breezy, **_Sounds good._**

She rolls over and somehow manages to go back to sleep since she and Stiles had been up until almost 5 binge-watching the last season of American Horror Story.

She wakes up a couple hours later to Stiles tapping her nose. She’s prepared to punch him until she sees the sandwich he holds out to her. She accepts, taking a bite and groaning. “Oh my god!”

“Remember when you judged me so hardcore for my fried egg and mayo sandwiches?” He asks as he settles next to her.

“I was a fool then, a fool!” She takes another bite, kicking her feet with happiness.

“Truth.” He takes a bite of his own sandwich and asks, “Who the hell was texting you so early?”

“Lydia.” She can’t help but grin a little.

“Oh ho!” Stiles waggles his eyebrows. “So, when’s the date?”

“Eight.” She finishes the last of her sandwich. “I need clothes.”

He looks around his disaster of a bedroom, clean clothes piled on top of a chair, his over-flowing dirty clothes hamper. “You have clothes here.”

“You know I mean real clothes, Stiles. Not pajamas or leggings and your t-shirts.”

“I’ll have you know that you look very fetching in my clothes.” He informs her, rolling his eyes. “But fine, you want to look nice, like a _loser_.” He glances at his phone. “I have to actually work today, _surprise_ , so you’re gonna be on your own for shopping.”

She grumbles, “Boo! Hiss!”

“I’ll make it up to you.” He promises, pressing a kiss to her temple. “I gotta run a piece to a buyer but I’ll be back shortly, then I’ll be back in the apartment for a while. Still got your key?”

“Yeah, I’ve got it. Go! Abandon your friend in the big, scary city all alone!” She cries dramatically, throwing an arm over her forehead.

He snorts as he walks away. “You’re a self-defense trainer, Ally, and you know all kinds of fighting styles that I don’t even know the names for. I know you could take pretty much anyone if it came down to it.”

“Whatever! Get out! Go do your _job_!” She flops face down on the bed and listens to him laugh as he leaves.

At half-past seven that night, she steps out of the bathroom and into the living room where Stiles is sitting and painting. “Alright, how do I look?”

Stiles doesn’t turn away from the canvas. “Fantastic.”

Allison sighs and puts her hands on her hips, narrowing her gaze into what Stiles calls _The Look_. “Stiles.”

He sighs, clearly rolling his eyes, and spins around on his stool. He runs his gaze over her outfit – a dress with a floral design, ankle boots, a paper-thin cardigan – and shrugs. “I stand by my initial response. You look fantastic, Ally.”

She deflates from her disgruntled position. “I’m sorry. I’m just…”

“Nervous.” He supplies, putting his brush down and wiping his hands on his pants rather than the cloth on the table next to him designated for that purpose. She’s stopped trying to ‘tell him how to art’ at this point.

“Yeah.” She shakes her head. “I don’t know why. It’s not like this can go any worse than the first time we met.”

He shrugs. “Exactly.”

“Doesn’t stop me from worrying though.”

He gives a small sigh. “Ally, she wouldn’t have even texted you if she wasn’t interested.”

“Right.” She can do this. It’s fine, _she’s_ fine, and the night is casual anyway, it’s not a big deal.

She feels a lot better when she knocks on the window of Lydia’s apartment and sees the red-headed girl has her hair pulled up into a messy bun and, though her clothes are dressy, she’s barefooted.

Lydia slides the window up with a smile. “Well hello.”

“Hi. Dinner smells good.” Allison slips inside as Lydia steps back.

“Thanks. Do you like risotto?” Lydia starts walking back to the kitchen then pauses, pointing at Allison’s shoes. “Kick those off.”

Allison grins, toeing them off and following her into the kitchen, accepting the glass of red wine Lydia holds out to her. “I love risotto.”

“Good.”

“So I have to ask…” Allison says as she watches Lydia check the status of the food.

“What?”

“What’s your last name?”

Lydia laughs, shaking her head a little, and says, “Martin.”

“Nice to meet you, Lydia Martin. I’m Allison Argent.”

A slow smile spreads over Lydia’s full lips, a gleam in her eyes as she runs them over Allison’s body. “Pleasure to officially meet you.”

Dinner goes well – it’s delicious – and they end up talking about how Allison knows Stiles and how Lydia knows Jackson and what they do for work, eventually moving to the couch to continue chatting.

After a while, a bright trill of music sounds from the coffee table and Lydia leans forward, snagging her phone.

“Oh,” Lydia mumbles and silencing the alarm, “I have to do something real quick.”

“What is it?” Allison asks, stretching out her legs as Lydia stands and moves toward the window.

“Playing Cupid for a friend.” She winks and leans out the window, listening for something.

Allison enjoys the view of her ass and legs as she stays on the couch, eyebrows rising when Lydia calls out, “Isaac?”

There’s a faint, “Yeah?”

She gives Allison a thumbs up and slips out onto the fire escape. Allison can’t resist – her curiosity truly knows very few bounds – and she moves to the window to listen.

When Lydia appears again, Allison asks, “Well?”

Lydia smirks and shuts the window after she climbs back inside. “We’ll see how it goes.”

“So Jackson likes Isaac.”

“It seems that the accidental breaking and entering agreed with the occupants of this building.” Lydia says airily as she grabs their glasses to refill them. While she’s in the kitchen, she texts someone a couple times and pours more wine.

“Now then,” she says as she settles back onto the couch, closer now than she was before, “you were talking about how you got into teaching self-defense.” She hands Allison her glass.

Allison goes into it, talks about her father and his business and him teaching her to learn to fight. Lydia nods and smiles, eyes curious as she listens.

Around midnight, when Allison has her shoes back on again and is standing by the window, Lydia leans in, slow enough that Allison could pull away – _as if_ – and presses a soft kiss to her lips.

“I've had a good time getting to know you, Allison Argent.” Lydia informs her.

“I have too, Lydia Martin.” She leans in then, resting her fingertips on Lydia’s cheek as she kisses her back. “You are a very intriguing individual.”

Lydia smirks. “You seem to like mysteries.”

“I do indeed.” Allison steps out the window, leaning down to say, “Good night.”

“Good night.” Lydia shuts the window slowly, smiling as she saunters away into her apartment.

Allison lets out a contented sigh, biting her lip to keep the idiotic smile off her face as she climbs the stairs.

\-----

When the window slides up, Stiles stirs from his slumped position on the couch, the motion not disturbing the kittens where they’re resting on his stomach.

“Hey.” He mumbles, rubbing at his eyes. “How’d it go?”

“Good.” Allison replies, stopping in front of the couch and smiling down at him, toeing off her shoes by the table. “Were you waiting up for me?”

“Pshh, no. I was playing with the cats. See?” He gestures to the two furry lumps of fluff to show her how unconcerned he was.

She ducks her chin and nudges his foot with hers, clearly not buying it. “Sure you were. Come on, let’s go to bed.”

He gently places the kittens on the couch cushion next to him and lets Allison pull him to his feet. Together, they pad down the hall in their socks, Allison turning off toward the bathroom as he walks straight back and flops into bed. 

A few minutes later, she joins him, pushing at him until he scoots over to give her enough room.

When they’re settled, he asks, “Sooo…?”

She huffs and thumps him with one of the pillows. “We kissed.”

He makes a high, excited noise and wiggles in place while she laughs and hits him with the pillow twice more.

“Shut up!”

He stops moving, turning to look at her. In the dim light cast through the window, he can see the line of her temple, the curve of her cheek, the happy quirk of her mouth. “I’m happy for you, Ally.” He says honestly, reaching out to tap the end of her nose.

“Thanks.” She grins, turning over and facing him fully. “She’s really nice.”

“Also: insanely pretty, scarily intelligent.” Stiles supplies.

“Yeah, that too.” Allison frowns a little. “And… it’ll be complicated if we take it further.”

“But?” Stiles asks through a yawn.

“ _But_ , I really do like her.”

“Then go for it.” He shrugs as much as he can while lying down. “Life’s complicated, babe, that’s how it is. You gotta fight for what you want.”

She leans forward and butts their foreheads together gently. “Thank you relationship guru.”

He says loftily, “I live to advise you.” He nudges her knees. “Go to sleep. We’ll get brunch and go shopping tomorrow.”

“God, I love you.” She laughs, pulling the blanket over her shoulder.

“Yeah yeah, I love you too or whatever.” He turns onto his back and lets out a deep breath before blinking off into sleep.

\-----

“I’m gonna throw up.” Isaac announces to the canisters of tea at eleven fifty-eight.

“No you’re not.” Boyd counters from where he’s restocking the shelves of tea brewing paraphernalia.

“I might.”

“It’s just a lunch date. It’s not even as serious as a dinner date.” Boyd offers. “The only thing less serious is getting coffee.”

“Meehh…” He rubs his face, groaning. “This is a terrible idea.”

“Why?”

“Because…” he starts, then stops because he hasn’t specifically mentioned that he’s going on a date with someone famous. He says instead, “I’m too nervous.”

Boyd casts his eyes to the ceiling, mumbles something, then turns and says, “If you don’t want to go, then don’t. But if you do, then chug a cup of Mega Matcha and get your ass to Maggie’s. You’ll be late if you don’t leave soon.”

Isaac glances at the clock. Boyd is right – he usually is – and he takes a deep breath, deciding against the tea. “Oh god, I’m gonna throw up on him.” He strides to the door. “Wish me luck!”

“Nope.” Boyd replies as he moves behind the counter, mouth quirked in a smirk as Isaac flips him off through the glass.

He makes his way to Maggie’s, bouncing on the balls of his feet at the crosswalks that seem to take forever. When he finally gets to the restaurant, his palms are sweaty and he gives the hostess a weak smile. “Hi there.”

“Hey honey, how many?” She reaches for the menus.

“Uh, I’m actually meeting someone-”

“Isaac!” He glances over and sees Jackson at an outside table, smiling with his hand raised in a wave, sunglasses flashing.

Isaac waves back then turns to the woman. “I guess I’m over there.”

She gives him a brighter smile. “Absolutely, right this way.” He follows her through the inside of the restaurant and back outside to the eating area with umbrellas open over the tables. “What can I get you to drink?”

“Water, please.”

“I’ll be right back with that.” She smiles at them both and trots off.

He turns to Jackson as the man moves his sunglasses to sit on top of his head. “Hi.”

“Hey.” Jackson replies.

They don’t say anything else for a moment, the sound of traffic and other diners filling the silence between them.

“I’m… a little nervous.” Isaac finally admits, fiddling with the edge of the roll of silverware sitting in front of him.

“Me too.” Isaac looks up at Jackson and sees his sheepish smile, one shoulder lifting as he taps his fingers against the table cloth. “I haven’t been to lunch with anyone like this for a while.”

“Like this?” He asks.

Jackson nods. “Yeah, like a, uh… date. Or something.”

Isaac has to hold back his snort, raising a hand to cover his mouth.

“What?” Jackson asks. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. It’s just…” he shakes his head a little, “you’re kind of a dork.”

“I… actually cannot refute that.” Jackson says with a laugh. “Lydia tells me that all the time.”

After that, it’s remarkably easy. They order when the server comes back then talk about whatever comes up, Isaac trying to stay away from the whole “you’re famous” thing since that’s not really what he cares about anyway. The food is good, as always, and Jackson lets Isaac snag a couple of his fries which is always a good sign in Isaac’s book.

Jackson’s phone goes off around one thirty and he frowns down at the screen, looking disappointed.

“Something wrong?”

“No, not really.” Jackson sighs, giving him an apologetic look at he raises his hand for the check. “I just called into work.”

Isaac smiles, lifting one shoulder as the girl comes over. “It’s cool. I should probably get back to the shop anyways.”

“Yeah.” Jackson smiles too, handing the server his card. “I had a really good time. Thank you for coming out with me.”

“Of course.” Isaac taps his phone screen. “Would you mind if I took a picture of you for your contact listing in my phone? I know it probably sounds a little weird but I like to have pictures for everyone in my contacts.”

Jackson tilts his head curiously as the server returns with his receipts. “What do you do for people that you aren’t friends with in real life, like restaurants and such?”

“I take pictures of the food.” Isaac answers then frowns, unsure of how weird that sounds.

“That’s a good idea.” He scrawls his signature, closes the book, and holds his hand out for the phone. “Okay, you can have a picture, but only if I get to take it.”

“Deal.”

Jackson makes a delightfully ridiculous face and takes the picture, handing back the phone with an easy smile. “That’s a highly coveted facial expression to have in a picture, I’ll have you know.”

“I’ll treasure it.” Isaac assures him, nodding with a serious expression.

They separate on the corner near Maggie’s, headed in opposite directions.

“That was fun.” Isaac says, scuffing his foot on the sidewalk.

“Yeah.” Jackson leans in and gently presses his lips to Isaac’s cheek. “I’ll talk to you soon?”

“Definitely.” Isaac agrees, watching as Jackson nods then strides across the street, waving when he reaches the other side.

It feels like it barely takes him any time at all to get back to the shop. He pushes open the door and leans against it to close it, a sigh slipping out.

Boyd says, “I assume it went terribly, then?”

He nods. “Awful. The absolute worst.”

“I knew you’d be fine.” Boyd states smugly as he goes into the back.

Isaac declares imperiously, “You’re fired.”

“No I’m not.”

“Ugh, fine. Keep your job.” He snarks but he’s smiling again and it seems like nothing can temper the warm feeling in his chest.

Around four, Erica comes in and leans on the counter with an exaggerated sigh. “Heya babes.”

“Hey Erica. What’s going on?” Isaac asks with a smile, used to her antics by now.

“Something _awful_ happened.” She states.

“Oh no, what is the awful thing?”

She puts the back of her hand to her forehead. “Cora drank _all_ of my Posey tea.”

Isaac shakes his head, patting her other hand. “You poor, poor thing.”

“I know. Mine is a tragic life…” She snorts at his raised eyebrow. “Anyway, could I get some more of that for the house? I’d like the Tea of the Day for now.”

“No problem.” He grabs the Tea of the Day – a white blend with rosehips and jackfruit that Stiles had dubbed My Heart Will Go On – and starts that to steeping.

“So,” Erica asks when he turns to the back counter to mix the tea, “do you know Jackson Whittemore?”

“Huh? Oh, um, kind of? Why?” He turns to see her holding up her phone with a raised eyebrow, a photo of him and Jackson at Maggie’s displayed on the screen.

He snatches the phone from her hand and gapes at the picture on the screen. Jackson’s head is thrown back in laughter and he knows what just came out of his mouth before the picture was taken.

“What… where did you get this?” He squeaks.

Erica’s eyes are wide with concern when he looks at her. “Oh fuck, I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to be a jerk, I just saw it online and I recognized you and… are you okay?” She places her hand on his shoulder gently.

He nods, probably too fast, because he’s maybe freaking out a little bit. “Yeah, uh, yeah, this was only a few hours ago and I just… wasn’t expecting this, I guess?” Though he probably should have, honestly.

It’s an article from some fan site, titled _Jackson Whittemore Seen in NYC with Mystery Guy – New Romance or Just Friends?_

He feels like he might throw up again.

Erica frowns. “God, I’m an ass. I’m really sorry.”

He shakes his head, handing her back her phone. He doesn’t want to read the article. “It’s really fine. You didn’t know. I just, uh, like I said… I wasn’t thinking something like this would happen. Or, uh, at least not so soon.”

“Reporters.” She comments darkly, tucking her phone back into her jacket. “They have no idea what boundaries are.”

“Not really in the job description, I think, boundaries.” He mutters, turning around to finish mixing her tea. He rubs his forefinger over his thumb, trying to focus. He’s finally able to mix up another batch of Posey and hands it to her with the hot cup. “All set.”

She puts the mix in her bag then reaches out and pats his shoulder. “If you need anything, call me, okay?”

He nods, trying to give her a genuine smile. “Sure. Thank you.”

She lifts one shoulder. “You’re the only one that gets me. I gotta make sure you’re okay. Plus I’d love to beat up some paps, be cool like Hannah Montana that one time.” With that typically absurd message, she slips on her sunglasses and strides out the door.

He watches her leave then looks down and sees the twenty dollar bill she’s left on the counter. “Dammit, Erica.” He grumbles, but his smile is real this time.

He operates the next few hours on autopilot until Boyd tells him to go home. He should stay, he knows, but he nods when his friend shoos him from the shop. He gets home around eight and encounters Stiles and a dark haired girl giggling in the foyer, shopping bags in hand as Stiles checks his mail.

“What up, Isaac? How was your day?” Stiles drawls, eyes lit up and cheeks tinged a happy pink.

Isaac has a moment where he’s not sure if Stiles already knows about the articles and Jackson and the whole thing and that the artist is teasing him. But the more he thinks about it, the more he knows that Stiles doesn’t dance around points. If he wants to tease someone about something, he’ll just go for it. The artist is probably stoned.

He finally answers, “Pretty good.” He hopes he didn’t wait too long but as he unlocks his mailbox he hears Stiles say, “Cool” so he must be fine.

It’s the girl that smiles at Isaac and asks kindly, “How was lunch?”

“Uh, good, I…” He blinks at her. “I don’t… know who you are?”

“Sorry about that.” Stiles pats the girl’s arm. “Her manners are atrocious.”

She swats the back of his head before turning to Isaac. “I’m Allison. I’m friends with Stiles and Lydia.”

“ _Friends_.” Stiles mumbles as he sorts through his mail, missing the narrow-eyed gaze that Allison sends him.

It clicks for Isaac. “Oh, you were the one who ended up in Lydia’s apartment.”

Stiles shoots him a finger-gun. “Got it in one.”

“Yeah.” Allison sighs, shaking her head. “It was a crazy night.”

Isaac nods, smiling a little despite himself. “Yeah.”

“Sorry I pried.” She shrugs. “I just hope you had a good time. I know Lydia was hoping you guys would meet up sometime soon.”

“It was…” Isaac fully smiles, “it was nice.”

The smile that Allison gives him feel like the sun is shining specifically on him. “That’s great. I’m glad to hear that.”

“We’re gonna go veg out before Ally takes off. See you later, Isaac.” Stiles waves and heads up the stairs, Allison trailing behind him with one last wave.

“Later.”

When he finishes sorting through his mail, he goes upstairs and flops into his chair, petting the kittens without thinking about it when they crawl into his lap.

He’s not sure how long he sits in the semi-darkness before his phone starts vibrating with a call. He sighs, pulling it from his pocket and staring at Jackson’s goofy face for a full fifteen seconds before he picks up and says, “Hello?”

Jackson immediately blurts, “Isaac! Lydia called me and told me about the articles. I’m sorry. I didn’t even think… I’m such an _idiot_ and I didn’t even realize how public that was. I’m so sorry!”

Isaac, well, Isaac bursts out laughing, effectively cutting off Jackson’s rant. As he laughs so hard he starts gasping, he hears Jackson ask, “Isaac? Are you okay?”

“Art-Arti _cles_?” He laughs, clutching at his stomach. “There are _multiple_ articles?”

“Like seven!” Jackson practically wails. “I’m so fucking sorry!”

It sends another wave of laughter through Isaac and when he calms down again, he says, “Jackson, if you keep apologizing, I’m going to start to think that you don’t want to be seen with me in public.”

“Wha-huh? Are… are you not mad?”

“I’m not mad, not really. A little freaked out, maybe, but not mad. And definitely not at you.” He reassures the other man. He sighs, rubbing his forehead. “I mean, I know who you are. I should have expected something. I saw one of your ads in Times Square last month, for god’s sake.”

“I just…” Jackson growls in frustration, “I like you and I don’t want this to scare you away.”

Isaac doesn’t fight the ridiculous smile he knows is pulling at his mouth. “I like you too, Jackson. I can’t guarantee that I’ll be the best person to be around publically, but I do want to spend more time with you.”

Jackson huffs a laugh. “What’s that supposed to mean, not the best person to be around?”

“I fall. A lot. Really, like, an embarrassing amount.”

“I’ll catch you if you fall.”

“Or I’ll pull us both down.” Isaac counters.

Jackson laughs, responding warmly, “Then we’ll both fall.”

The implication in his tone makes Isaac’s heart beat fast. To lighten the moment, he jokes, “I’m sure the pictures will be glorious.”

“Magical.” He agrees. Someone calls Jackson’s name in the background and the model sighs. “I’m sorry, I have to go. I’m still at the shoot.”

“It’s fine.” Isaac assures him. “Go be beautiful, make people cry with your cheekbones.”

Jackson laughs then asks, “I’ll talk to you tomorrow?”

He grins. “Yeah. Tomorrow.”

“Awesome. Uh, bye Isaac.”

“Bye Jackson.” He drops the phone onto his lap when the call ends and stares up at the ceiling, contemplating how long it’ll take for his brother to call him.

Twenty seven minutes, it turns out. “Hey Camden, what’s up?”

Camden ignores his question and exclaims, “Since when are you having lunch with models?!”

He sighs, rubbing his face and wondering how many times he’s gonna get a call like this. He thinks about the crooked smile on Jackson’s face, the ridiculous photo of him attached to a contact entry, an open invitation to contact him any time, and thinks _who cares?_

He leans against his counter and watches the cats chase each other around the room, answering glibly, “Since today.” He smiles as he brushes his fingers over his cheek.

\-----

On Wednesday afternoon, Stiles opens the taxi door and presses a kiss to Allison’s cheek. “Have a safe trip home, Ally girl.”

She smiles and presses a kiss to his cheekbone before pulling back. “I’ll be back soon.”

Stiles grins. “To see me or Lydia?”

She rolls her eyes and swats his arm. “Either way, you live in the same building. I’ll see both of you eventually when I visit.”

“A beautiful testament to our friendship.” Stiles drawls before waving her into the cab. “Now, shoo, you’re gonna miss the bus if you don’t get in the taxi.”

She sighs and gives him another _Look_ but gets in the car. She gives him a small wave from behind the window as the cab pulls into traffic. He raises his hand before turning and going back inside.

Once he gets back upstairs, he opens the door to his empty apartment, heaves a sigh, and closes the heavy sliding door with a thud. He flops face down on the couch and waits for the tiny pats of paws to pad up his body.

He grins into the couch cushions, waiting for the bat of a paw at his ear that he knows is coming. He raises his head and puffs air at Splotch, sending her skittering up the back of the couch. He grins up at Pitch from where he watches him regally, completely unbothered.

Eventually, after he plays with the cats for who knows how long, he drags himself off the couch and turns on some music, grabbing an apple from his fruit bowl, contemplating his half-finished seven foot panel, the one he’s working on for pleasure, not work.

He gets sucked in, the way he always does when it just _clicks_. He’s lost in it when there’s a lull between songs and he hears a loud knock on his door, like someone’s been out there for a bit, trying to get his attention. He drops his brush and trots to the door, calling, “Hold on!”

Stiles pulls open the door, not even bothering to try and keep the pull handle free of paint, since it’s already got a healthy layer. The handle slides out of his wet palm and the door hits the stopper at the other end with a dull thud, not that he even thinks about it. He tries to keep the shock he’s feeling off his face but he’s not sure he does a very good job.

He manages to utter weakly, “Hi.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been 2 months since I've updated and I hate that. There's been a LOT of shitty real life stuff going on lately and I haven't gotten to sit and write the way I want to but maybe I'll be able to more in the coming weeks.
> 
> I've realized too, the longer I've written this, it's almost less about the relationships and more about the friendships connecting these people together, which is something I guess I've been thinking about a lot in real life so it's wiggled it's way into the story - go figure.
> 
> Anyway, the next chapter is the one from Laura’s POV that I asked if you guys wanted and it's complete so it should be up in a couple of days. The Sterek, for those of you who are reading just for that, will come in chapter 7.
> 
> I love ya babbies - truly, madly. Thanks for keeping-on being good to me. It's hella important.
> 
> kisskiss  
> ♡ Scotch


	6. Derek's Cool - His Sister Owns The Building

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heya babs! Here's my gratuitous Laura's POV chapter - combined with the Sterek you've been waiting for (a whole chapter early whaaaattt?!). Please excuse any mistakes - I'm doing about fifteen different things right now - aaahhhhhhh...
> 
> Enjoy!

Laura Hale owns a building in New York City, bought with her part of life insurance money that she never wanted to have in her possession, much less at this point in her life.

The money sits in an account for years before she even touches it. She’d been advised by the accountant at her advertisement company to invest in  _something_  and stocks never appealed to her so, property. She gets the building for relatively cheap, despite the location, though the renovations end up costing a bit more than she expects.

When the commercial space on the first floor is complete enough to be a blank canvas and the sign is placed in the window, she gets six offers before the end of the day – different businesses for different crowds. She settles on the bar since they tell her she can have free drinks any time she likes – she doesn’t drink often but she likes the thought of not having to pay an arm and a leg when she does – and because she knows there will always be a lot of business from the college kids nearby. They also want the least amount of remodeling so it makes sense.

Derek comes by after work on the second Friday the bar is open and drinks with her. They get wasted, he tells her how incredibly creepy her new place is, and they spend the next day nursing hangovers and bickering about how to arrange her furniture in the loft while drinking Bloody Marys in their pajamas. Cora directs them over Skype since her ankle is broken and Erica has ordered her – read: _bribed_ – to be on bedrest.

The building also has three apartments below her two-level loft and she has no intentions of really doing anything with the spaces once they’re cleaned up, but Erica – city property realtor extraordinaire – convinces her to lease them out. It’s probably best that someone live there regularly since she’s often out of town on business anyway.

Erica brings the applications for various people looking to lease the apartments and she sorts through various piles of papers, all faceless people wanting to live in her building with its “old-fashioned charm” and “breathtaking city views” and “highly desirable location”. It makes Laura extremely glad Erica is handling the majority of the leasing process. All she has to do is call the applicants and invite them for a tour.

Stiles Stilinski the Artist ends up being the first to move in, though they’ve had a few others tour so far.

Laura waits with her coffee, reading at her table as Erica shows Stiles the apartments. When Erica gets back, she gives Laura the low-down, mostly physical description and some details about the artist. It concludes with Stiles wanting the fourth floor for the best views and not minding that he’ll have to lug all his stuff up four flights of stairs. Laura shrugs. She doesn’t care, as long as he doesn’t disturb her since he’ll be right below her place.

Lydia Martin the Lawyer is next.

Lydia and Erica spend most of the time flirting, the lawyer trying to get Erica to let her have the fourth floor apartment instead of the third. Erica reports enjoying the flirting but she ultimately manages to convince Lydia to take the apartment, even she’s less than pleased about the floor.

Then it’s Isaac Lahey the Herbal Tea Guy or whatever his official occupation is.

Erica pushes for this one, for some reason, so Laura shrugs and tells her to give him a tour.

Apparently, he runs a small tea shop nearby and Erica’s been into the place a few times. She kind of hopes that he’ll move in so they can be done with the tours. She’s tired of strange people coming into the building and she just wants it to be over. Isaac ends up taking the apartment and seems quite grateful, according to Erica.

All in all, it’s a strange and annoying experience and Laura has more important things to focus on. It’s a sigh of relief when it’s finally over.

As the months go by, the fire escapes outside the apartments start to show the personalities of the people living there. It’s enough to make her wonder if she should get a plant or something but she knows it’d just die. She settles for inspecting Isaac’s plants as she goes by, smelling the candles Lydia leaves out, and studying the paintings leaning next to the window on Stiles’ level.

She sort of likes them, her tenants, and she can sometimes hear them talking to one another, laughing or teasing. It’s kind of nice, knowing that there’s someone home when she gets back from out of town, even if they’re not in the loft. It makes her feel strange, a little melancholic, but still good, if that makes any sense.

She starts looking at the building, _her_ building, and seeing _Home_ in the brightly colored flowers blooming and wind chimes hanging from the fire escapes, soothing music weaving into the air and seeming to mix with cigarette smoke and laughter and the sound of, wait, what, are those _cats?_

She doesn’t know why she’s surprised.

\-----

Laura gets back around three in the morning on Saturday, weary from the long wait at the airport and the shitty NYC traffic. _Home sweet home_. She misses Monaco already.

The loft is dark when she unlocks the door. She tiptoes in, trying not to be too loud since the open floor plan makes noise carry so well. In the dim light from the fixture above the stove, she makes sure the coffee machine has water in the well, sets the timer, and checks the fridge, noting the lack of contents with a frown.

Resolving to go to the shop around the corner in the morning – or afternoon – she heads up the stairs and strips down before falling face first in bed and promptly passing out.

The next day, she stirs when she hears muffled yelling but she doesn’t actually get out of bed until she hears someone moving around downstairs. She pulls on a t-shirt and some shorts and leans on the railing overlooking the kitchen and living room.

Derek is standing fully dressed in the kitchen, leaning with his head down in front of the coffee pot.

“Morning.” She calls, moving to descend the staircase.

He mumbles back, “Morning.”

When she gets close enough to get a good look at him, she pauses, reaching to touch his arm. “Are you okay? You look like shit.”

He huffs and pulls his arm out of her reach. “Thanks. At least I look like I fucking feel.”

“What happened? Long night?” She grins at the flush that limns his ears pink.

“You could say that.” He slumps against the opposite counter, watching the coffee pot fill up.

“Why don’t we drink some coffee and you tell me all about it?” She catches a whiff of something sour, like vomit. “Oh man,” she wrinkles her nose, “did you throw up?”

He groans lowly, shaking his head and walking away and up the stairs without saying anything.

“Towels are in the basket.” She calls, huffing a laugh when he grumbles something incoherent in response.

Poor thing, never could hold his liquor like her and Cora.

When he comes down, fully showered and in pajamas, he tells her what happened. She doesn’t tease him about his drunken mistake – _much_ – but she does inform him that he’s lucky Stiles was hungover or he’d have probably gotten the crap kicked out of him when the artist found him in the apartment.

Derek rolls his eyes but he mutters something about a baseball bat and makes himself a black cup of coffee before asking how her trip went. She lets him change the subject and talks about Monaco, how beautiful it is and how amazing the food and wine are.

She finally tells him to go sleep it off when she sees his eyes drooping.

“I’ll make dinner later and we can hang out then.”

“Thanks, Laur.” He mumbles, leaning his head on her shoulder before walking back upstairs.

“Of course, Der. Love you.”

“Love you.” He waves over his shoulder.

She’s sure he’ll be over it by the time he wakes up.

But, she’s been wrong about her brother’s attachments to people before and, by the time Wednesday night rolls around, Laura realizes that she’s wrong _now_ , that this has become a “situation”. Her eye twitches when Derek lets out a tiny sigh, mind clearly on Stiles as he digs around in his take-out box from their favorite Chinese place and stares at the floor.

Over the past couple of days, he’s asked her countless small questions about the artist: how long he’s lived in the building, what kind of art does he do, who was that girl that was hanging out with him, Allison or Ally as Stiles called her, is she his sister or friend or girlfriend?

And Laura doesn’t _actually_ know that much about Stiles, just what she’s gleaned from her observations and the basic info that was on the leasing application and paperwork, so she doesn’t know what to say to half the questions and damn, she has no idea, she didn’t even see the girl Derek’s talking about.

This sigh, though, _this_ is the sigh that breaks the camel’s back… or whatever. She looks up at him, narrowing her eyes as he picks at his food with his chopsticks.

“Derek,” she says calmly, trying not to be annoyed with the pouty look on his face, “honey, I love you, you know that, and so I’m going to tell you something important. I need you to put up or shut up when it comes to Stiles.”

“What?” He blinks, chopsticks stilling in his box of lo mien.

She leans back on the couch, wiping her fingers. “I’m not trying to meddle, really, truly, you know I don’t want to get into your or Cora’s dating lives. God forbid you ever decided to meddle in _mine_ , but, seriously, Der?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about…” He mutters, stabbing at his noodles.

“You’re sulking.”

“I am _not_.”

“You can’t stop thinking about him.”

He almost sings, “Not true.”

She points at him with her chopsticks. “You’ve been dreaming about him.”

He bats his hand at her chopsticks, frowning, but voice staying light, “Nope.”

“You want to have his babies.”

“That’s, _what_? You’re an idiot.” He rolls his eyes, going back to his food.

She tries to keep from smiling, enjoying the back and forth despite the situation. She informs him, “You love his eyes.”

“They look like whiskey.” He replies immediately before he freezes, flicking his eyes up as her mouth finally curves into a victorious smile. He scowls and snaps, “Oh shut _up_. You are insufferable, I swear to god.”

She shrugs one shoulder, not disagreeing. “Not worse than Cora though.”

“Christ, Laura.” He groans, giving her a pained look. “You didn’t tell her, did you?”

“No. Believe it or not, I don’t live to torture you, Der. I just want you to make up your mind and fucking _do_ something.” She grabs the box of orange chicken. “Or do nothing. I don’t care. But god, _please_ decide so that we can actually be in my loft without you listening for every noise from downstairs, coming up with yet _another_ question about him that I can’t answer.”

He sighs deeply, looking at his lap and biting his lip, clearly thinking it over. She leans back and keeps eating, leaving him alone to let him make up his mind.

“Okay.” He nods to himself, closing the box of food and standing. “Okay.”

“Okay.” She echoes, watching him as he wipes his palms on his jeans.

He shoots her a look and heads for the door, taking a deep breath before actually exiting. She rolls her eyes at his dramatics. When the door to the loft shuts behind him, she leans over and snags the remote, pulling up her DVR to turn on an episode of Bob’s Burgers, wiggling into a comfy position in her chair.

She’s hopeful that things go well for Derek with Stiles, especially since she’s got a soft spot for the strange artist.

Mostly though, she hopes Derek doesn’t find out that she told Erica about the “Stiles Situation” since the blonde tells her girlfriend _everything_ … meaning Cora most likely _does_ know about Derek’s crush.

Oh well. That’s Future Laura’s problem. For now, she shrugs and crunches on a water chestnut, humming along with the theme song, eyeing the full bag of spring rolls still on the table.

\-----

Derek’s full-steam-ahead attitude abandons him the second he’s standing in front of Stiles’ door. He waffles, unsure if he should just turn around and go back upstairs or if he should get it over with – he’s already there anyway, so, yeah, he’s gonna do it.

Decision made, he takes a deep breath and knocks on the door. There’s no response and he steps closer, hearing the sound of music. Derek isn’t sure Stiles can even hear him over the noise. He decides to knock again. Waits, then knocks again, _third time’s the charm_.

Finally, there’s a muffled call, the music quiets, and then the door slides open, thudding against the doorstopper at the end of the track.

Stiles stands in the doorway, looking like a wet dream pulled straight from Derek’s fantasies. His long hands are covered in paint, colored spatters are flecked across his ripped jeans, a black tank top shows off lean muscled arms, his hair’s a beautiful mess, whiskey-eyes bright, and plush mouth slightly open as he stares at Derek with something like shock.

Derek’s _weak_ by the time Stiles breaks his silent staring and breathes, “Hi.”

Derek croaks, _oh so smoothly_ , “Hey.” He clears his throat and tries again. “So, I was around and I just wanted to come by and apologize again for breaking into your apartment and throwing up in your plant.”

Stiles leans a shoulder against the door frame with a smirk, drawling, “Yeah, it was a gift.”

“The plant or the vomit?” Derek asks without thinking, wincing and cursing his run-off mouth.

Stiles’ eyes narrow for a moment before his laugh rings brightly through the hall. He shakes his head with a smile and asks, “Do you want to come in, Derek?”

“Sure.” He steps in, looking around like he didn’t really get a chance to the other day. It's interesting, the mix of things Stiles has decorating the space. There are paintings everywhere, leaning against walls and stacked next to what Stiles must have been working on before Derek interrupted him. One small wall has framed photos completely covering it with no spaces in between them. Derek doesn't step closer to explore them, though he's curious since he can recognize Stiles and Allison in several of them from where he stands.

“Uh…” Stiles steps into the kitchen and glances around at the mess there and in the living room. “So, random question. Do you like diner food? Because this place is a sty and I’d rather you didn’t see any more of it in this state.”

Derek turns and gives him a hard look. “Is the food simple, greasy, and inexpensive?”

“Absolutely.”

He leans on the opposite side of the island. “Lackadaisical staff that barely bother with you at all?”

Stiles nods. “You get your food, pay your bill, and then you’re dead to them.”

“Decent coffee just this side of too hot?”

“As if there’s any other kind.” Stiles scoffs.

He nods. “Then I’m in.”

Stiles grins. “Awesome. Let me just clean up.” He wiggles his paint-covered hands and Derek nods, trying not to stare too obviously.

He bends down to greet the solid black kitten that approaches him, butting against his legs. “Hey kitty.”

“Huh.”

Derek turns to see Stiles pulling on a flannel button up. “What?”

“He doesn’t really like people.” Stiles pulls on a red hoodie. “That’s Pitch, by the way. Her majesty the queen over there is Splotch.” He jerks his thumb at a huge _thing_ by the windows with lots of levels and carpeting. The kitten sitting on top of the monstrosity blinks at Derek, not making any move to get up.

“Surveying her domain?” Derek pets Pitch one more time before rising to his feet.

“She’s a menace.” Stiles jerks his head toward the door and they head out. They turn left when they get outside. “Have you ever been to The Hot & Cold Diner?”

“I don’t think so. The only diner-like places I’ve been around here are Maggie’s and that one place that looks like it’ll give you salmonella if you eat there. I can’t remember the name.”

Stiles grins, leaning closer and whispering conspiratorially, “We’re going to the salmonella one.”

Derek laughs as they turn a corner and come up on a hole in the wall diner with a sign in bright red 50s-esque neon. “Okay.”

“It’s good, I promise.” He pulls open the door. “Sarah!” Stiles calls out happily, arms in the air.

The girl behind the counter, Sarah, lifts one perfectly shaped eyebrow at Stiles and jerks her head toward an empty table in the corner. Stiles shoots finger guns at her and she rolls her eyes, dropping her gaze down to a thick book spread on the counter.

“I assume you come here often.” Derek remarks as he walks past a couple other diners and slides into the booth opposite of Stiles.

“Often enough that Sarah knows how I am.” He leans forward a little as he tugs off his hoodie. “I’m only this enthusiastic about a few choice parts of life. Decent diner food happens to be one of the things I get excited about.”

Sarah saunters over to them before Derek can explore the innuendo in that statement and drawls in a bored tone, “What can I get you?”

Derek smiles at her, though he realizes he shouldn’t bother when her face remains the same. He clears his throat and says, “Coffee, please. Black.”

She doesn’t even bother looking at Stiles, just turns and walks behind the bar.

“Sarah’s a grad student. She’s going to be a kick ass teacher.” Stiles supplies.

“A teacher.” Derek huffs a laugh. “It’ll be hard for kids to pull one over on her.”

“Ha! No kidding. Now,” Stiles taps laminated menus sitting in a stand by the end of the table, “I don’t know how hungry you are, but they have fantastic curly fries here.”

Derek thinks of his half-eaten Chinese food probably still sitting on Laura's coffee table. “Curly fries sound good.”

“Awesome.” Sarah walks up with two mugs, setting the black coffee down in front of Derek and putting a whipped cream covered monstrosity in front of Stiles. “Sarah, goddess of all, could you bring us two orders of curly fries.”

She jerks her thumb at Derek. “He want the works?”

Stiles looks at him and raises his eyebrows. Derek shakes his head, unsure if he should address Stiles or Sarah. “No thank you.”

That actually gets a reaction out of Sarah. The corner of her mouth lifts and, before she walks away, she mutters, “Polite.”

“What is that?” Derek points at the cup and Stiles grins.

“Hot chocolate. I don’t get coffee here unless it’s between the hours of two a.m. and ten a.m.” He takes a sip, licking the whipped cream from his mouth neatly. “So, Derek,” Stiles prompts, crossing his arms over his chest, forearms flexing, “who’s better: Batman or Superman?”

Derek answers immediately, “Superman.”

Stiles’ mouth drops open – _that and the whipped cream… stop, Derek, no_ – and he cries, “Whaaat?”

It launches them into a debate – Batman versus Superman – which then leads into Marvel – Spiderman versus The Hulk – and then intermingling the two comic universes. They dig into their fries when Sarah drops them onto the table and Stiles was right – they’re _fantastic_.

They keep debating and they’ve just finished their fries when Derek’s phone starts ringing, dancing along the table top.

“Oh no.” Derek groans when he sees the displayed name.

“What is it?” Stiles leans forward curiously, looking at the screen. “Who’s Cora? And why does her calling make your face do that?”

“Do what?” Derek scowls, contemplating if it’s better to let the call go to voicemail or to pick it up and face the music now. He is going to _strangle_ Laura.

“That.” He looks up and sees Stiles wigging his fingers in front of his own face while he frowns exaggeratedly.

“I don’t really know what that expression is supposed to be, but Cora is my younger sister.” He decides it’s better to answer. “And she is a nightmare. I have to answer this. I’m sorry.”

Stiles snorts and gestures for him to carry on. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Derek almost smiles. Then he hits the green button and Cora’s voice comes clearly through the speaker. The expression drops as she sings, “Oh, Der Bear, why don’t you ever tell me anything?”

“I don’t remember there being a section in the sibling code book decreeing that I have to tell you details about my personal life.” He informs her as Stiles pulls out his phone and taps at the screen with a smile.

“Pshh, there totally is.”

“No, there isn’t.” He rubs his fingers against the edge of the table. “So what did Laura tell you?”

“Oh Laura didn’t tell me anything.” She answers airily. “Erica told me.”

Derek sighs softly, trying not to give too much away since the subject of the whole conversation is sitting less than three feet from him. “And Erica knows how?”

“Well Laura told her, of course.”

“Cora, I really don’t have time to deal with your particular brand of _You_ right now. I’m busy.”

“Oh. My. God.” Cora says in a scandalized-ditzy voice. “Are you with _him_ , like, right now?!”

He can’t help the sigh that slips out. He mutters, “There’s something wrong with you.”

“Mmm yeah. Pretty sure Laura dropped me when I was a baby.”

“I wouldn’t doubt that.” He flicks his eyes up at Stiles who’s still looking at his phone. “Seriously, I have to go.”

“Oh, you are such a spoil sport.” He growls and she sighs gustily. “Fine! Call me later.”

“No. Bye.”

“Love you!” She almost shouts.

He pulls the phone away from his ear a little and grumbles, “Love you too.” He ends the call and gives Stiles a sheepish look. “I’m really sorry about that.”

Stiles puts his phone back in his pocket and grins, resting his chin on his folded hands. His eyes dance as he asks in a slightly posh voice, “Was your sister inquiring about me?”

Probably best to be honest… “Uh… yeah. Sorry.”

Stiles gives an easy shrug, mouth pursed as he appears to fight laughter. “It’s fine, really.”

“She just,” Derek explains as he tucks his phone in his pocket, “she’s so blissfully happy with Erica that she wants Laura and me to be happy too but she doesn’t seem to understand that she needs to butt out and let it happen on its own. I mean, I love her, but she’s got some serious boundary issues.”

“Wait, Erica like, your sister’s broker?”

Derek nods. “Yeah, she’s been with Cora for over three years and she handled the leasing of the apartments for Laura as a favor.”

“Oh.” Stiles raps the table top with his knuckles. “Well! I’m sure something’s happening regardless of her interruption, so.” He winks and takes a sip of his cocoa.

“Yeah?” Derek smiles at his coffee, flicking his eyes up to see Stiles tilt his head and smirk at him.

“Oh yeah.” He leans his elbows on the table. “So, you’ve got Laura and Cora, loving sisters extraordinaire.” Derek snorts and Stiles smiles, asking, “What about your folks? Are they as nosy as Cora or are they chill like Laura? Crazy vodka aunt that you don’t talk about? Whiskey uncle who’s just a _teensy_ bit racist?”

Derek flinches. He sees Stiles’ eyes widen and tries to say something quickly to diffuse the situation. “There was a fire…” Which, that was _not_ what he was expecting to say, but he carries on since he already started. “Uh, Laura, Cora, and I weren’t there because of school stuff. Everyone else didn’t make it.”

“Oh fuck.” Stiles whispers, his face stricken. Instead of the ‘I’m sorry’ Derek expects, Stiles asks gently, “How old were you?”

“Sixteen.” Derek sighs, realizing he’s completely ruined their easy mood. “I’m sorry. I usually don’t tell people that on the first date.” Not that he usually makes it past the first couple dates lately, anyway. He takes a deep breath, shrugging and trying to think of something else to say.

Stiles purses his lips then says softly, “My mom is dead.” He shrugs too, frowning down at his hot chocolate. “I know it’s not…” he waves his hand at Derek, “but yeah, it’s pretty shitty. I was eight and it’s been seventeen years but it’s… still bad sometimes. The other day was actually the aftermath of the anniversary of her death, hence the hellacious hangover. It’s why Ally was in town too.”

“And Ally is… your sister?”

Stiles smiles. “Practically, but no, she’s one of my best friends. The other one is Scott, he lives back home in Beacon Hills, looks after my dad for me. He and his mom Melissa were the ones who picked me and my dad back up after mom passed.”

“What happened?” Derek asks, then backpedals. “If you don’t mind saying.”

Stiles shakes his head. “It’s fine. It was frontotemporal dementia.” At Derek’s look of confusion, his mouth quirks and he explains, “Basically it’s a type of dementia that affects younger people. So, her mind went before her body did, complete with hallucinations, night terrors, forgetting where she was, what year it was, who we were, etcetera.” There’re tears gathered in the corners of his eyes now and he sniffs subtly.

“That’s…” Derek searches for something to describe how it would make him feel to lose someone like that, having Laura or Cora slowly forget everything, even him. The fire was terrible, yes, the worst thing that’s ever happened to him, but it was _so_ _fast_ , and everything was already in ashes by the time that he and Laura got to the house. If he had to choose – which is such a fucked up thing to think – he’s not sure which he’d prefer. He finally settles for saying, “That really fucking sucks.”

Stiles laughs quietly, the small tears wiped away as he smiles. “Yeah it does.”

“Well, I think I broke the mood all to shit.” Derek admits, fiddling with his spoon, though he's not regretting telling Stiles, which in and of itself says something.

“I helped. Sometimes it's okay to break moods, you know.” Stiles reassures him, grabbing the small dessert card display. “ _But_ , I don’t think the happy part of this one is irreparable. I have just the thing to make this better. Do you like chocolate?” His gaze is serious when it moves back to Derek.

Feeling like he’s answering another question that could launch them into a debate, Derek nods. “Yeah.”

“Good.” Stiles turns and calls, “Sarah, can we get a Cow Pie?”

“Alright.” She sighs, pulling herself from the counter and going into the back.

“Cow Pie?” Derek asks, unable to keep the disgusted expression from his face.

“I know it sounds gross but it’s seriously the best, I’m not kidding.”

“What is it?”

“You’ll have to try it to find out.” Stiles says with a smirk Sarah places a plate with a perfectly circular brown pile of _something_ in the middle of green syrup lines that are probably supposed to look like grass, two spoons on a napkin beside the plate. It looks suspiciously exactly like what Derek imagines a cow patty would look like, since he’s never seen one in real life.

“Bon appétit.” Sarah says with a smirk of her own, taking their empty curly fry plates.

Stiles picks up one of the spoons, cuts right into the brown mass, eats the bite, and makes the single most orgasmic sound Derek’s ever heard outside of a porno. He feels his eyebrows rise as Stiles flops back in the booth in apparent bliss.

“Okay, it cannot be _that_ good.” He grabs the other spoon, takes the bite, and immediately takes back what he just said. “Oh my _god_ …”

“I _know_ , right?” Stiles crows, taking another bite. “I can’t explain it to someone who hasn’t had it. I’ve tried but they always stop me at the name.”

“I can understand that.” Derek shrugs, taking another bite. “But they don’t know what they’re missing.”

“Yeah.” Stiles says softly, eyes warm as he runs them over Derek before taking another bite.

When they’re done, Sarah takes the plate. “You done?”

“Yep.” Stiles holds his hand out and Sarah slaps a slip of paper on it.

“I can get it.” Derek reaches for his wallet.

Stiles shakes his head, holding up his hand. “I got this. I invited you out so I insist.”

“Thanks. It was as good as you said it would be.”

Stiles nods, rising and pulling his hoodie back on. “You should feel special. This is one of my favorite places. The only place better is T-Bird’s, back in Beacon Hills, but don’t tell Sarah I said that.” He whispers, unfolding bills and throwing them onto the table. “Thank you, Sarah, you’re the best and brightest of us all.”

“Yeah yeah.” Sarah waves them out, attention totally on her textbook now that she’s done taking care of them.

“She loves me, really.” Stiles confides to Derek as they exit the diner.

Derek nods solemnly. “I can tell.”

They set off down the sidewalk, Stiles pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. “Do you mind?”

Derek shakes his head. He likes the smell of cigarettes, not enough to actually smoke them, but he doesn’t mind when other people do. “You’re good.”

“Cool.” Stiles lights the cigarette, taking a deep drag and courteously blowing the smoke away from Derek.

“So, I have to admit, I know that you’re an artist, but I don’t really know what that means profession wise. Do you paint stuff for commission? Do you have a gallery that shows off your work?”

Stiles shrugs. “Eh, there’re a couple pieces up in a gallery right now. Nothing major, just two that they selected to go with their current themed exhibit. I have a few people who commission pieces every few months, for this vacation home or that one, so that’s a pretty steady pay check. The rests is just whatever I want to do or feel like making.”

They pull up to a crosswalk, waiting as the lights blink aggressively at them and cars zip by. “Do you only paint?”

“I work with all sorts of media but painting is my favorite. Oh!” He almost bounces along the sidewalk. “Other than chalk. I dig chalk art _so_ _hard_.”

“You any good at it?”

“Eh, I’m passable but I’ve gotten a hell of a lot better since I first picked it up.” He takes a drag, wrinkling his nose before exhaling a grey cloud. “And what is it exactly that _you_ do, Derek Hale?”

Derek grins at his tone. “I work at a community outreach center for kids to provide counseling and mentoring.”

Stiles coughs a little. “You work with kids? Of _course_ you do. Oh god, you're like a Big Brother, aren't you?” He groans, covering his face.

“Well... yeah. Is there something wrong with that? You don’t like kids?”

“No.” Stiles snaps his head up, eyes wide. “I mean, _yes_ , I like kids. Kids are great. That’s not what I’m saying.” He rubs his face.

Derek frowns, confused. “Then what’s wrong with me working with them?”

“Nothing, really, it’s just…” Stiles waves his hand at Derek again. “You’re so like, _wow_ , and, just, ugh, and then throw in the kids thing, and I’m a puddle of goo over here.”

Derek chuckles, shaking his head at Stiles’ rambling, his cheeks a little warm at the strange (what he thinks is a) compliment. “You are a very interesting person.”

Stiles barks a laugh. “I’ve heard that a time or twelve.”

They get back to the building and go inside, walking up the four flights of stairs in easy silence, both smiling and sending each other glances. When they get to Stiles’ door, Derek shoves his hands in his pockets to keep from touching the happy flush on Stiles’ cheeks.

“Well, I can say that I had a much better time hanging out with you than the last time.” Stiles says with a smirk.

Derek rolls his eyes and smirks back. “I’m not going to apologize for the plant again,” he steps a little closer, unable to stop himself, “but I’ll get you another one if you want.”

Stiles shrugs. “No big. Isaac’s always got more plants. It’s kind of his thing.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Derek realizes they’ve dropped into whispering, closer now than they were before. He’s about to do something, anything, when Stiles rocks forward and presses their lips together softly.

He pulls back, eyes darker than usual, and asks, “Can I see you again sometime?”

Derek nods, stupidly fast, he’s sure. “Definitely.”

“Next week?” Stiles bites his lip and Derek’s eyes drop to the motion.

“Yeah. Sounds great.”

Stiles grins, nodding a little. “Cool. Have a good night.”

“You too.” He walks slowly to the stairs, climbing up and waving a little when Stiles wiggles his fingers at him before sliding the door closed.

Derek lets himself back into the loft, snorting softly at Laura’s curled up position on the chair, neck wrenched at what has to be an uncomfortable angle. He could wake her gently, he supposes, but he’s not feeling charitable so he settles for poking her steadily in the cheek with a chopstick.

She cracks open her eyes and swats his hand away. When she recognizes him, she garbles, “Hey Der, how’d it go?”

He smiles, feeling slightly giddy. “Great. We’re seeing each other next week.”

“That’s awesome!” She rubs her eyes then blinks up at him. “If it was great, why do you have your angry eyebrows on?”

He pulls out his phone and wiggles it at her. “Because Cora called me while I was eating with Stiles.”

And _that_ seems to wake her right up. She shifts nervously. “Uh…”

“Laura…” Derek sighs, shaking his head. “You know Erica tells Cora _everything_. You are such a blabber mouth.”

“Am not!” She protests, even though she totally is.

“Are too!” Derek glances at the empty spring roll bag – he goes to a totally different place for them that doesn’t deliver and is on the other side of town – and smirks at her, pointing at it. “Never again.”

“Aw, _Der_ , really?” She calls as he climbs the stairs. She calls, “It’s not _that_ serious, right?” She scrambles from the couch and up the stairs after him. “He still wants to see you even after she called! That seems like a positive sign!”

It’s probably not a mature response, but he greatly enjoys turning with a grin and calmly shutting the guest room door right in her face. As a little brother, it makes him feel like his goal is accomplished as she growls with frustration, calls him a brat, and stomps away.

He flops onto the bed, grinning even wider at the memory of the look on Stiles’ face after they kissed. Stiles is right – the night ended so much better than the last time they parted ways.

He rolls over face down into the pillows and lets himself be ridiculously hopeful. It feels like it’s the start of something incredible, even with the bumpy introduction, and he’s so ready for something amazing and good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think? I hope you liked it. The next/last chapter will be out either tomorrow or Wednesday morning, definitely before Thanksgiving bc I'm traveling.
> 
> And before you ask, yes, the Cow Pie is a real dessert and it is _soooo_ good.
> 
> You should totes stop by my [tumblr](http://damnfancyscotch.tumblr.com/) while you wait for the next update to roll out. :)
> 
> loveandsomuchcoffee  
> kisskiss  
> ♡ Scotch


	7. The Kids Are Alright

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *screaming*
> 
> [as always please excuse any mistakes - it's so late and I'm so tired]

Stiles meets Laura in person first – naturally, since he’s seeing her brother – at a dinner for Derek’s organization. A part of him is disappointed that she’s not _actually_ a vampire, but he likes her snarky wit and sense of humor. She compliments his art and he promises to make her something to hang in her loft. He sees the strong sibling bond between her and Derek as they eat and it makes him smile.

He takes great joy in informing Lydia and Isaac that he met her first as he walks up the fire escape, cigarette dangling from his lips as he carries two bags filled with god-knows-what up to his apartment. Lydia leans over the railing and shares a commiserating look with Isaac, both rolling their eyes, though they’re both smiling.

Lydia is meditating on her fire escape a bit later, studiously ignoring her phone since one of the office interns keeps calling her to ask insipid questions, when an unfamiliar woman appears, climbing the stairs. Laura introduces herself and asks what CD she’s playing because it’s always soothing to hear and she likes to open her windows to hear it when she catches it playing. Lydia likes her immediately.

Isaac gets a call-in order from Erica – which is uncommon but not particularly strange – and Laura is the one that comes in to retrieve it. She smiles, introduces herself, and Isaac is immediately struck by the fact that he’s seen her countless times on the street and has never known he was looking at his landlady.

The wealthy recluse theory seems to be pretty close, though her behavior’s not _reclusive_ , he learns, she just works a lot. She asks him what plants would last the best without a lot of care and he takes one of the cacti from the shelf behind him, handing it to her with a bright grin. She calls him a little shit and he grins.

It’s as if now that they’ve met her, they all see her a lot more often.

Stiles catches sight of her at the corner store, inspecting cans of soup like she’s going to be quizzed on it later. He suggests the chicken noodle and she throws a bag of rolls at his head.

Lydia holds the door open when Laura carries in a large vase, watching with an amused smirk as the brown-haired woman slowly makes her way up the stairs and calls, "Quit looking at my ass, Lydia." Lydia doesn't deny or confirm it, just putting on her sunglasses and leaving, shaking her head with a smile.

Isaac, now that he actually knows who she is, waves when they cross paths in the mornings. She looks like a zombie every time he sees her and sometimes he gives her his tea out of sympathy. She always grunts something at him and pats his head or shoulder affectionately before shambling down the sidewalk.

\-----

In the next couple of months, things settle into a rhythm for the people in Laura’s building.

On the second floor, Isaac tends his small indoor garden, watching over his most recent transplants from some of Erica and Cora’s plants. He smiles at Jackson’s gentle tut at the dirt all over the floor and wiggles his dirty fingers at the model.

He watches Jackson settle onto his ratty armchair with a grace that he still doesn’t quite understand and can’t help the smile that pulls at his lips. Jackson flicks his eyes up and one of his genuine, non-model smiles appears.

He leans back over one of the arms, stretching his arms above his head, perfectly displaying his muscles. “What would I have to do to get you to give up the gardening for a half an hour?” He asks conversationally.

“Only a half hour?” Isaac replies faux-innocently, widening his eyes.

Jackson grins, rolling out of the chair and striding across the floor. “I thought I’d be generous, still let you have some time to play in the dirt before dinner. But,” his grin turns darker, “I’d love to occupy your time for the rest of the night.”

“Dinner can wait.” Isaac agrees. “It’s not like it’s a premiere party for a new line or anything.”

Jackson leans down and speaks against Isaac’s lips. “Now that you mention it…” He pulls back and Isaac makes a disgruntled sound. “We really do have to go. You now have,” he glances at his watch, “twenty six minutes to do whatever you want with before we have to get ready.”

Isaac watches him walk down the hall toward the bedroom, articles of clothing dropping with every step until Jackson slips out of sight, a pair of green boxer briefs clinging oh so nicely to the curve of his ass.

“Twenty four minutes.” Jackson calls breathily.

Isaac scrambles up from the floor and down the hall.

They’re ten minutes late for dinner but no one scolds them as they settle at their table, place cards with their names on them covered in doodled hearts and kisses from Jackson’s friends at the agency. The model rolls his eyes but smiles, settling a hand on Isaac’s thigh, palm up for Isaac to lace their fingers together.

He does and covers his mouth with his other hand, trying (and maybe failing) to cover his ridiculously happy smile.

On the third floor, Lydia prowls around her apartment, slowly walking down the hallway as she listens closely for any sounds. Willow dashes from her bedroom into the bathroom and Lydia narrows her eyes at the darkened doorway.

She creeps closer and puts her hand on the door. She’s immediately slammed into the door, though Allison pulls back before her face connects with it. “Almost got me but you know Willow always runs towards me, not away from me.” Allison breathes into her ear.

Lydia sighs, puffing a piece of hair out of her face. “Yield.” Allison lets go of her arm and steps back with a grin as Lydia turn around. “You’re so fucking quiet.”

Allison shrugs one shoulder. “Lots and lots of practice. It’s not something I think about any more.”

Lydia hums and unzips her hoodie, pushing open the bedroom door and tossing it onto the bed, leaving her in just a sports bra and her yoga pants. “Let’s spar.”

Allison runs her eyes over Lydia’s bare stomach and collarbones before nodding. “If you’re ready to get your ass kicked again.”

The red head stretches her arms over her head and walks into the living room where the mats are still set up from their practice earlier. “I think I can beat you.”

Allison squares off with her, dropping a little into a defensive stance with a smirk. “Bring it on.”

Lydia does win, but only because when Allison pins her, she cranes her head up and captures the trainer’s mouth in a fierce kiss. She thinks Allison doesn’t mind losing though, if her happy moan is anything to go by.

On the fourth floor, Stiles scowls and hisses, “Are you completely incapable of staying still for _one_ fucking second?”

Derek snorts softly from where he’s reading his book on the couch.

Stiles ignores him, fiddling with Splotch’s sweater. Pitch is lying on his side, looking completely despondent, but adorable. Splotch is struggling against the argyle patterned fabric, fur puffed up as she growls.

“Stop laughing.” Stiles finally grumbles without turning around.

“I wasn’t.”

“Oh, you were.” Stiles looks over his shoulder with a scowl. “I could feel it.”

“In the air?” Derek asks with a smirk.

He narrows his eyes and turns back to the struggling cat. “You know what – fine.” He gently pulls the fabric off of Splotch. “Go and be a jerk over there. I’ll make Pitch the Christmas darling.”

The cat staggers away, mewing pathetically at Derek. “Don’t look at me.” He warns.

Stiles sees that she doesn’t listen, watching as she moves over and jumps up next to him on the couch. He drops his hand to scratch her ears and she rewards him with a heavy purr.

“She likes you more than me.” Stiles sighs, lifting the camera to snap a picture of Pitch.

“Yeah.” Derek agrees.

“You could lie to me.” Stiles informs him grumpily, though he’s smiling just a little as Pitch starts wrestling with the shiny silver garland on the pillow next to him.

“I could.” Derek reaches out his foot and nudges Stiles in the side, making the artist screech. “But I think honesty’s probably best, you know, healthy relationship foundations and all that stuff.”

Stiles rolls his eyes, full on smiling now. “Yeah, yeah.” He raises his camera, aiming it at Derek and snapping a picture. He pulls it down to look at the screen.

“How’s it look?”

“Hideous.” Stiles says brightly, setting the camera on the table and releasing Pitch from his sweater-prison.

“Perfect.” Derek says, picking up his book again.

“Totally.” Stiles agrees, resting his chin on his fist and liking the slight flush that colors Derek’s cheeks the longer he makes eyes at him. He takes about fifteen more pictures before Derek takes the camera from him and kisses him when he complains.

He lets the camera go though, since making out with Derek is a far more fun activity than taking pictures of kittens anyway.

\-----

Thanksgiving rolls around and Stiles joins Derek and his sisters and Erica for dinner. A couple hours before the food is ready, he gets a call from Allison asking what he’s doing since her plans fell through and so she gets added to the roster.

Since Allison is there, Erica pops down to Lydia’s and invites the red-head upstairs, taking a trip down the stairs to drag Isaac up too. Jackson arrives last, confused when he finds the sign on Lydia’s door telling him to come up to Laura’s.

There’s plenty of food, after everyone pops back to their apartments and grabs some sides, and the group of them spend the day laughing and drinking and eating to the point that they’re sprawled all over the living room, groaning while they watch Thanksgiving episodes of Friends.

After that, it clicks, the group of them growing closer, though Stiles still lovingly annoys Lydia and Cora complains that Isaac’s tea always needs extra sugar and Boyd, when he’s free to join them, judges them all with rolled eyes and snarky commentary.

Laura nudges Derek in the side, two weeks before Christmas, and says, “Kinda like home used to be, right?”

Derek nods, eyes a little sad, though his lips quirk when Stiles and Erica curse profusely after Isaac says gleefully, “Right foot red.” Allison cheers as they topple over, lifting her glass from the table as limbs fly everywhere.

“It’s good.” He says, leaning into her for a moment before getting up and crossing the room to get more cider.

It _is_ good, Laura thinks as she looks over the group of them laughing and talking. It’s really good.

They go their separate ways for Christmas: Stiles and Allison back to California to visit their parents and Scott, Isaac going to visit his brother and his family in Colorado, Jackson and Lydia to Chicago, and the Hales and Erica in New York.

However, they’re all back to celebrate New Year’s together because there’s nothing quite like New Year’s in New York. Boyd joins them when his sister ditches him, chastely kissing Laura’s cheek when the ball drops and stealing the bottle of champagne from Stiles.

Laura looks at all of them, kissing each other and laughing and covered with gold confetti, and grins.

Stiles comes over and slings his arm over her shoulder, pressing a sloppy kiss to her cheek. “You know, if you want, you can be the Alpha of our pack. Since it looks like we’re not Omegas anymore.”

She raises her eyebrow. “Wolves, Stiles, really?”

He shrugs, grinning. “It’s what we are, Laur, a group of lonely wolves that have rallied around you because of a bunch of happy accidents.” He wiggles her shoulder a little. “Just think about it, ‘kay?” Without waiting for a response, he walks over and plops himself on Derek’s lap, cuddling close as Derek drops an arm around his waist.

She looks at the group of them again and thinks _yeah, alright, I’m the Alpha._  Someone bumps into a table and there's the sound of breaking glass followed by a chorus of, "Oooo you're in _truhble."_   She sighs, taking another swig of champagne. _I'm the Alpha of a pack full of drunk children_.

\-----

In May, they have another dinner party “just because” though Stiles states that it’s May the fourth and decrees that it’s an actual holiday and totally okay to celebrate.

Laura, Cora, Erica, and Derek are finishing up with the side dishes and setting the table when a hollow thump comes from the door to the loft. Erica and Laura sigh as Cora rolls her eyes. Derek gives them all _shut up_ looks as he opens the door.

“Hey you.” Stiles greets, turning his armful of casserole dishes to the side to lean in for a kiss.

“Hi.” Derek murmurs warmly, rubbing at a patch of something colorful on Stiles’ jaw.

Laura leans out of the kitchen and orders, “Come in already. If you make out in the hall, it’ll scare everyone away.”

Stiles snorts. “Yeah, I don’t think that’s true.” He moves to the side and they all catch sight of Lydia and Allison kissing at the top of the stairs.

They all cat-call and shout various things: “Gross!” “Get a room!” “Ew!” “Love is disgusting!”

Lydia flips them off but the two do part, moving to enter the loft, Allison’s dimpled cheeks a lovely shade of pale pink as she rolls her eye at their antics.

“Where’re Jackson and Isaac?” Cora asks as she embraces Lydia.

“They’re on their way. Isaac had to close the shop since Boyd has a date tonight.”

“Oooh! A date!” Erica crows, leaning her elbows on the island. “Did Isaac say who it was with?”

“Nope.” Allison supplies as she takes the top casserole dish from Stiles, inspecting the contents curiously.

“Damn.” Erica pouts.

“And he said we’re not to ask when we see Boyd next because it’s none of our business, blah blah blah something about all of us being nosy vultures.” Allison smells the contents of the dish and gives Stiles a knowing look. “Melissa’s recipe?”

“You bet your ass it is. I had to promise her my first born and a few other things to get her to give it to me. Scotty says hi by the way.” Stiles grins and wiggles the bottom dish. “This one is Mom’s.”

“Oh my god.” Allison sighs happily. “This is gonna be so good.”

“Damn right.”

Isaac and Jackson get there right as the casseroles are coming out of the oven. Isaac groans and asks, “Is that the broccoli and cheese bake?”

“Oh yeah.” Stiles says as he pulls it out of the oven.

“You have not lived until you’ve had this.” Isaac informs Jackson.

“Is that so?” The model asks as he wraps an arm around Lydia and pulls her in for a hug.

“It’s true. Stiles used it to bribe Isaac and me into liking him.” The red-head tells him, pinching his cheek. “Also, it’s better than your brother’s.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” Jackson announces, pointing at a spatula. “Hand me that so I can taste it.”

“Yeah, not gonna happen. You have to wait like the rest of us.” Laura informs him. “I haven’t tried it yet either.”

“Uh, I definitely didn’t sign up to wait for anything.” Cora announces when Jackson makes a sound of protest.

Before they devolve too far into nonsensical bickering, there’s a knock on the door.

They all freeze before they start into muttering and whispering back and forth that it must Laura’s new _friend_ , the “mysterious and adorable” Patrick that none of them have met yet because as a group, they’re “intimidating” and “ask too many questions” and maybe they _are_ vultures, hmm…

She shushes them as she heads for the door, hissing lowly with a pointed finger, “If you mess this up for me, I will evict all of you who live here and murder the rest of you.”

They all nod, slightly chastened but not enough to actually _stay_ in the kitchen as she walks down the hall. They all peek around the corner as she slides the door open and a good looking guy with glasses is revealed, smiling and holding two bottles of wine.

“Hi.” Laura says softly.

“Hi.” Patrick echoes, eyes flicking over Laura’s shoulder to land on where they’re all looking at him. “Hello.” He greets easily.

Laura turns and rolls her eyes as they chorus at him, “Hello.”

“Please, come in, if you dare.” She mutters, standing back.

He grins at her in a way that makes most of the group look at each other with knowing lifts to their eyebrows and amused curves of their mouths.

As dinner is finished and the dessert is rolled out, they realize that Patrick is funny and smart and a little buzzed – like the rest of them – as he gestures around the table with his wine glass and asks, “You guys seem really close. How did you all meet?”

Most of them laugh or snort, Derek winces, Cora and Erica give each other gooey eyes, and Laura puts a hand over her face.

Stiles leans forward a little, but not enough that it’ll dislodge Derek’s arm where it’s wrapped around his shoulders. He grins as he asks, “Do you know anything about the history of fire escapes, Patrick?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! This unexpectedly turned into a total beast to complete but I'm glad I did - and I like how it turned out, I think. Haha.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this - let me know what you think. :D
> 
> Gonna be spending my Thanksgiving doing a whole lot of eating and visiting with some seriously loved people. I hope you guys have a good holiday! Be safe and eat so much good food!
> 
> Thank you to all the people who read and left me love on this. You're the best.
> 
> ily babbies!  
> kisskiss  
> ♡ Scotch


End file.
